


The Show Fic Compilation

by angstydog



Category: The Unnamed and Unpublished Show
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, I do treat my little monster poorly much like Dr. Frankenstein himself, I feel like dr. frankenstein, I won't stop until this is done, M/M, because I created a disaster, but it's My disaster <3, here we are, i'm sorry everyone, i'm sorry mom, that's just how it goes, this is a monstrosity, this started as a 2000 word concept about the first woah kiss, thousands of words later, unfortunately, what the fuck is happening in the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 51,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23422786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstydog/pseuds/angstydog
Summary: This is a fic for a TV show that doesn't exist yet! Every character in here is an OC so if you don't understand what's happening its because this isn't based on anything except imagination.However, if you're one of the three people I might send this to, this is just a bunch of convoluted and pretentiously worded retellings of key milestones in these mentally ill bitches lives.
Relationships: Logan Bateman/Quentin, Logan/Peter, McCarthy/MGK, Noelle/Mark, Weston Harper/Noah Coker, woah - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. Woah Confession

**Author's Note:**

> hey Emily what's up

Weston knew he needed to move, but he couldn’t exactly remember how. 

His brain was screaming at him, begging his arms to reach up and return the sudden embrace he found himself in, but the disconnect between his body and mind was growing larger by the second as the shock wore off and the gravity of the situation settled into his chest. 

Noah was hugging him. Noah Coker, roommate from down the hall, the best friend of his best friend’s best friend, root of his sexuality crisis, was hugging him. Weston had no idea when he had gotten back from rehab, but more importantly, Weston wanted nothing more than to ask him when the FUCK he had started using cologne.

Noah finally relented, holding Weston out at arms length, and Weston felt like he was melting under the heat of the loving gaze Noah was fixing him with.

Forget the cologne, Noah was wearing _makeup_. 

Weston needed to leave. He felt way too hot, way too quick, and knew he needed to remove himself from the situation at hand before he threw up all over this hot dude who was suddenly dangerously close to him. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat, breaking away from Noah’s gaze and grip with a firm pat on the shoulder and a “good to see you, man.” He quickly turned on his heel, and prayed to every god he could think of that Noah hadn’t noticed how much he was blushing. 

Weston pressed his forehead alongside his palm on the cold tile of the shower wall. The hot water ran down his back, slowly undoing the knots his brief interaction with Noah had left behind. He knew he couldn’t hide in the shower forever; for one thing, the bathroom lock had stopped working sometime during the course of the last month, probably the last time that Mark was hiding from McCarthy in here after one of their biweekly violent arguments. His mind started to wander, replaying the entire interaction he had just had with Noah.

He had stepped out of his bedroom, he was heading next door to Mark’s room to take his speaker back so he could do some cooking, and next thing he knew, a vaguely familiar voice was calling his name. He didn’t think that he had even fully registered that it was Noah yet, but he was in a rib crushing hug, and his brain was in hyperdrive. 

Weston thought about the last time he had seen Noah. He thought about the dark circles under his eyes, the way his smile had stopped seemed genuine, and as much as he didn’t want to, he thought about how it felt to find Noah, limp and seemingly lifeless. Weston couldn’t remember a time before that when he had felt as helpless as he did in that moment. It made complete sense that Noah would leave for rehab, kicking an addiction wasn’t exactly a trivial feat, and he figured the added stressors from the climate of their house was the last thing a recovering addict needed. Even as he thought about how happy he was to see Noah get help, he couldn’t help but think about the way he had selfishly moped while he knew Noah was packing. Weston didn’t even think he had ever said a proper goodbye to the guy who had forced him to start to come to terms with his non-heterosexuality. Well, kind of. Saying he had come to terms with it may be a little strong, but he _had_ made a realization.

At that thought, he grimaced, reaching to turn off the shower. Staring in the mirror as he dried himself off, he let his mind wander further. Noah was nowhere near the first openly gay man he had ever known, but he was definitely the first one who was so… _flirty._ Maybe that wasn’t fair _._ Noah was nice to everyone, it wasn’t his fault that Weston read too much into it. It was just that… before Noah, Weston had never even thought twice about the fact that he was into girls exclusively. 

Well, he supposed that wasn’t entirely true. 

There had been two times as a teenager when Weston had wondered if there was something more to his identity than just “straight guy in touch with his feminine side”. 

The first was over something kind of stupid: a concert. His biggest guilty pleasure as a middle schooler and early high schooler (and, well, now) was Katy Perry, but he didn’t feel like that was enough to make someone gay. She was pretty hot, if he thought about it. But more than that, her music was what he used as his personal pep talk most days. Even though he knew there was nothing wrong with this, really, he knew it would probably raise more questions than even painting his nails and wearing eyeliner had, especially with his mom and brother. 

Being indebted to McCarthy Scarlett is a dangerous position to find yourself in, and one of the first pieces of advice he would give to anyone who was willing to listen was to never make deals with her. She was like a fairy, or a genie- things were never what they appeared to be when you negotiated with her. Like most people who were willing to be indebted to the devil, however, he was desperate. 

She had laughed less than he thought she would when he asked, and had agreed even quicker. On the surface, it was a perfect crime- of COURSE this glamourous fourteen-year-old would want to go to a Katy Perry concert, and her poor best friends were her only slightly less sparkly entourage everywhere she went, so they begrudgingly allowed themselves to be dragged along. It all felt right, even though anyone who really knew them would probably be confused as to why their resident music snob and metalhead was suddenly so okay with a bubblegum pop concert. This all, of course, rested on Mark not to blow the plan wide open. 

Mark, being just as much under McCarthy’s control as Weston, but with half the brainpower, knew just enough to not pose any questions. 

They all had an absolute blast at the concert.

Dwelling on Mark reminded Weston of his other notable sexuality crisis, this one about 10 YPN (years pre-Noah). 

They were newly 16, they were drunk, and they were having a sleepover. 

None of those things were unusual for the trio at that age; in fact, it was a pretty reliable weekend routine. This time, they were crashing for the night at McCarthy’s place, which was also a fairly common occurrence. What separated this night from every other sleepover, however, was their sleeping arrangement. 

McCarthy usually tossed herself into her oversized bed, falling asleep almost immediately, with a preconceived understanding that the two boys would find some way to sort out who between the two of them got to sleep on the loveseat in her bedroom, and which one would be on the floor.

Mark almost always slept on the floor.

This night, however, McCarthy wasn’t quite as wasted as usual, and stayed up for a while, laughing and talking with the boys, until she fell asleep on the couch. 

Another thing Weston would put in the Idiot’s Guide To McCarthy would be #2: Never wake her up once she finally falls asleep. 

Her falling asleep on the couch was unusual, but he assumed they would just be playing a game of musical sleeping accommodations, and since the evening had ended with Mark sitting on her bed and himself on the floor, he resigned himself to curl up on the rug between the bed and couch. Before he could even get himself fully lying down, however, Mark was poking his head over the footboard of McCarthy’s bed inquisitively. “Dude, what are you doing down there? This bed is like, freaky big. Get up here.” Weston didn’t even bat an eye at this, this was nowhere near the first time he had shared a bed with one of his friends. He had no problem being close to Mark. He had hardly even noticed the way his heart started racing when Mark had leaned his face over his own. 

He climbed up into bed, sliding between the silky sheets and turning on his side to face Mark. This was something else they always did at McCarthy’s house; she always fell asleep first, which gave the boys time to chat some more, usually about whatever girls they were respectively into without McCarthy calling them simps. And that’s exactly what they did, whispering and giggling to each other about some girls who have caught their eye, one of whom Weston had recently locked down as his date to homecoming. 

Mark started into a particularly dramatic monologue about this senior cheerleader from his chemistry class, and he dipped his voice low in a certain way while making fun of himself that made Weston freeze. He knew exactly what this feeling in his stomach was, but why was he feeling it right now, of all times? He took a deep breath, pushing the weird wave of nausea he was riding down. He was literally talking about a girl he liked, that’s why. And, well, Mark was laying really close to him. 

Wait, what? No, not that one. 

He closed his eyes, filling his brain with images of his date to the upcoming dance. She had pretty big boobs, boobs are cool. Probably not as cool as just a nice, broad, muscular chest, though. Mark was pretty cut. Weston had seen him without his shirt on or slightly undressed enough times to know that-

_What?!?_

Weston squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, clenching his jaw in the process. He was just drunk, it’s fine, lots of people think weird things when they’re drunk, even though he had only had two beers, that had to be it, he was just drunk-

Weston startled when Mark started poking at his cheek, and cracked his eyes open enough to see the dopey smile his idiot friend was giving him. He could barely even answer the genuinely concerned “you good, bud?” he shot at him because of the way his heart had swooped low into his stomach. When had Mark’s face gotten so… _chiseled?_ And, beyond that, why was that so hot to him? He knew what his best friend looked like. He could not for the life of him figure out why it was suddenly affecting him so much.

 _Drunk_. Drunk, and tired. And, well, pretty horny. But NOT because of Mark. People can just be horny sometimes. It's not like that's against the law.

Weston forced a tight smile and a small nod, then rolled over, his back facing Mark, and gaped at the wall with large eyes. He really needed to just… push this down, so to speak, and go to sleep. He took a deep breath, and forced his eyes shut again, praying for sleep to hurry up and overtake him. 

He heard Mark sigh dismissively behind him, muttering an “alright, dude” before shifting to make himself more comfortable, which opened up an entirely new bag of problems for Weston, who had forgotten what a cuddler Mark was.

Mark was close enough for Weston to feel his breath on the back of his neck, and one of Mark’s unfairly muscular arms snaked around his waist, his hand coming to rest just above Weston’s belly button. 

Weston forgot how to breathe. This had to be some cruel trick from the universe. He was a pent up 16 year old, what EXACTLY did the universe expect from him anyway? He forced himself to calm down, breathing hard through his nose, reminding himself that this was super normal for them. Mark did this all the time, with him, with McCarthy, with everyone. He was an affectionate dude. 

Weston was sure he would forget about everything homoerotic racing through his mind right now come morning. 

Weston did not forget about his homoerotic thoughts by morning. 

In fact, he woke up with an entirely different problem that he really wanted to avoid addressing, especially since McCarthy was now awake and sitting upright on the couch, arms crossed, staring directly at him with one manicured eyebrow raised. Before he could even open his mouth to try and begin building a defense, McCarthy spoke, “Weston, I don’t care if you’re gay, but if you could just not be gay in _my bed_ that would be awesome. House rules. Nothing personal, the same goes for Armani.” Weston knew he was visibly blushing, which was not helped by the fact that Mark, still asleep, chose that exact moment to squeeze Weston closer to his chest, tucking his face into the crook of his neck. 

Weston felt like he had been caught red-handed doing something, even though there was nothing going on. And even if there was, McCarthy had no proof.

Well, as long as he didn’t stand up, she didn’t. 

He shifted uncomfortably under McCarthy’s scrutinizing gaze, and he tried with every ounce of his willpower to avoid eye contact and focus on calming himself down. 

Even though she was kind of the worst person he knew, McCarthy could also be a saint sometimes, and he figured it was her good Catholic girl upbringing that made her decide to choose that moment to get up and go downstairs in search of snacks, giving Weston a shot at an almost non-traumatic exit from bed.

That next week was really, really awkward. 

How exactly are you supposed to interact with your best friends after one of them gave you a boner and the other one knew? 

Mark, obviously, was as lovely as ever, having absolutely no idea that Weston was borderline spinning out of control. McCarthy was being shockingly sympathetic, but he knew that simply meant that he was living in the calm before the storm. 

One day, when Mark skipped out on lunch with them to go and try to impress that girl from chem, she struck.

Weston was sitting on the bleachers, enjoying the early fall breeze on his face as much as he was enjoying the blunt he had snuck into his lunchbox from his brother’s stash, when he heard McCarthy approaching. He continued staring off across the field in front of him, hoping that she had forgotten the whole ordeal.

Of course, she hadn’t.

She began to speak in a voice that was cautious in a way that was entirely out of character for her, a reassuring hand placed on his knee, quietly asking, “You know it’s totally okay, right?” 

Weston clenched his jaw, taking a long drag from the joint in his hands, wordlessly passing it to McCarthy. 

He knew it was fine to be gay. He just... _wasn’t._

He had been thinking a ton, and the whole ordeal with Mark was just a product of hormones. Weston was a pretty pent up dude. He had been drunk, Mark had been really close to him, and they were at a time in their lives where everything was overwhelming. Of course his body got confused. 

This didn’t account for all of the other guys he had just realized he found attractive during this whole ordeal, but come on. Sometimes people are just hot. 

McCarthy still seemed skeptical, but she was thankfully intuitive enough to not pressure him any further at that moment, just giving him one last gentle reminder that he could talk to her about anything before they finished smoking in fairly comfortable silence. 

Weston’s little gay thoughts problem was something he and McCarthy mutually agreed to forget about until freshman year of college.

Well, McCarthy’s freshman year. Weston had no desire to go back to school after experiencing the freedom of travelling the world with his two best friends, but since she and Mark were both there by order of their parents, he found a place closer to campus to crash and reap all the benefits of college life without having to go to class.

McCarthy had a roommate who was shockingly okay with all of the bullshit she did, which meant the three of them spent a lot of time at her place. Sometimes Logan, the aforementioned roommate, was there, sometimes not, but one Tuesday afternoon, after a particularly stressful lecture for McCarthy, she invited the two boys over. Mark ignored the text, because he was in class, but Weston had nothing better to do, so he met McCarthy at the quad. 

They walked back to her dorm, laughing and talking, and retroactively, Weston wished he could time travel to that exact moment and warn himself that this was the last time he would be well and truly sure of anything. 

McCarthy scanned them into her room, and as he kicked his shoes off, he noticed the body on the futon out of the corner of his eye. He turned to take in the man at the same time he rose to his feet to come over and greet them. His blood pressure began to rise, he could feel the color coming to his face, and he suddenly felt like he was going to throw up. 

_Fuck. Not again._

McCarthy was introducing him to this guy, apparently Logan’s best friend who was crashing here while she was in class, because like him, he thought the education institution was a waste of time. Weston tried his best to focus on anything except the way this guy’s giant hand enveloped his own as they shook hands, and the other man’s introduction came to him slowly, as if he was being spoken to underwater.

Noah. _Noah._ He rolled the word around in his brain and then his mouth as he introduced himself in return, ignoring the feeling in his stomach less like butterflies and more reminiscent of a swarm of wasps settling in. McCarthy excused herself to her room to change before they went out to eat, and Weston tried not to think too hard, or to think at all, really. This guy was tall- like, _weirdly_ tall and scrawny, but in a way that worked for him. His clothes were obnoxious. He talked really loud and refused to break eye contact when Weston was talking to him. He had this fire in his eyes that made Weston want to learn about everything that made him excited so that he could laugh about them with him. 

This was the first time he would argue that the best way to describe a man would be pretty. 

He wondered how long he had been sitting there memorizing every detail of Noah’s freckled face, because for once he felt like McCarthy had gotten ready too quickly. 

They walked out the door, he waved goodbye to Noah with a nervous laugh, and immediately turned on McCarthy. He cleared his throat, “You, uh, you didn’t tell me about him.” 

McCarthy furrowed her eyebrows, fixing Weston with an uncharacteristically confused look. Normally Weston would be patting himself on the back for being able to catch her off guard, but his mind was otherwise occupied at the time. McCarthy stopped walking, asking him genuinely, “What would I have told you? He’s just Logan’s friend.” 

Weston balked, raising his voice, “You could have at least warned me that he was, you know, he’s-” He cut himself off with a huff, knowing that nothing he could say would be able to get him out of the hole he had just dug. 

McCarthy continued, “That he’s what? Gay? I didn’t think that would matter, Wes. Jesus. Stop being homophobic.” She kept walking ahead, forcing Weston to jog to catch up with her overly long strides. He knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t actually mad, just dramatic, but even if she had been, he was a little distracted by the confirmation that Noah actually was gay. Not that it really mattered, because _he_ wasn’t gay, so he didn’t _actually_ care. But, you know, it was good to know. Not for his own personal reasons, but just in general. What? It’s a fun fact!

His dinner with McCarthy went completely normally besides the fact that he often found himself lost in conversation, thinking about the genuinely interested gaze Noah had given him when he was explaining things as simple as where he was from. It was weird, Noah made him feel so… so _seen._ He couldn’t really think of a better word for it. Noah had looked right at him, not through him, no ulterior motive, not wanting anything from him except to absorb the words that were coming out of his mouth. 

Weston thought he could probably live the rest of his life happily as long as there was someone who looked at him like that in it.

You know, as a _friend_ , of course. 

The years passed, and the weird feelings Noah gave him never changed, but they both did as people. 

Weston had spent plenty of time dwelling on why Noah made him feel... like _that_. He had already gone through the whole gay crisis in high school, and he obviously wasn’t gay, so after lots of introspection, he came to the conclusion that all of these weird feelings for guys were simply because while he may be straight, he wasn’t blind. Mark was attractive, Noah was beautiful, that didn’t mean he was gay. He could think a girl was hot without wanting to fuck her, it could be the same with guys. 

Moving in with everyone after graduation just made sense. Their group of friends had become almost obnoxiously tight knit over the course of their educational careers or lack thereof, and it was just dumb luck that a mentor of theirs had a vacant property with enough room for the whole lot of them.

Including Noah.

During these last four years, Weston had definitely begun to think of Noah as a pretty close friend, the same way he felt about Logan, another important person who he hadn’t known before college. They were pretty close, he felt like he could trust Noah and Noah could trust him. 

That’s why it really bothered Weston when he started noticing that something was off about Noah. 

It was little things at first, like when he started sleeping until 3 in the afternoon instead of 1, or was coming out of his room less and less, striking up fewer random overly-enthusiastic conversations about K-Pop bands literally no one else on planet earth over the age of twelve knew about, or reducing the frequency of his spontaneous yet mandatory Y2K dance parties.

Weston knew that something was really, really wrong, though, when the fire behind Noah’s eyes that he had grown to, well, for lack of a more platonic word, love, died down to embers before going out altogether.

He knew that he was too far gone for intervention from just Weston himself, and he was content to give Noah the space he needed to figure himself out, but Weston never expected for things to get as bad as they did.

The day Noah overdosed was probably second on the list of worst days of Weston’s life. 

He came home from the gas station near their house with cigarettes, candy, and soda for everyone as usual, but the house felt weirdly quiet. It had been pretty uncharacteristically quiet for the past couple of weeks, but this kind of quiet was wrong. The air felt too thick, and something in his gut was pulling him down to the end of the hallway to check on Noah. He knocked on the door, his foot tapping anxiously, breaking the silence by calling out to him that he had brought home gummy bears. 

No answer.

A black hole of dread opened up in Weston’s stomach. Noah had been abnormally quiet, but he would never outright ignore anyone like this, especially not Weston.

He considered leaving for a brief second. Maybe he really was just still asleep, and Weston shouldn’t wake him up. Something was telling him that wasn’t right, though, and deciding to trust his gut, Weston forced the door open.

The next few minutes were a blur, somehow happening impossibly fast and in slow motion all at once. 

Noah was unresponsive, looking nauseatingly lifeless, slumped by the foot of his bed. Weston didn’t remember pulling out his phone or calling 911, but he did remember shouting their address through the line, screaming at this poor operator to send help, and quickly. 

He was then immediately kneeling by Noah’s side, his jacket off, wrapping it around Noah’s shoulders, the only coherent thought in his head at that exact moment being that Noah looked really cold. 

Weston held him close to his chest, thanking the universe that he could still feel Noah’s chest rising with his breath, even though it was way slower than it should be, as Weston gently rocked both of them, muttering under his breath about how if Noah died on him, he was going to fucking kill him. 

Weston had no idea how long it was before help arrived, but it arrived, and he rode with Noah in the ambulance while he called everyone else to meet him at the hospital. Mark showed up with McCarthy and Logan in tow, Logan looking particularly rough even for the situation at hand. He needed to talk to her, too. Something hadn’t seemed right with Logan for around the same amount of time as Noah, and he needed to make sure she wasn’t doing anything stupid. Like this. Whatever this was that had brought them all here stupid.

Weston was there, practically living in the armchair by Noah’s hospital bed once the doctor said he was allowed to have visitors. He checked out last minute though, leaving before he knew Noah was going to wake up. He just didn’t want to be overbearing, he knew Noah would need his space.

He also just… wasn’t ready to talk seriously with Noah. Weston needed room to breathe just as much as he knew that Noah did. The whole thing had been a lot, and he didn’t want Noah to feel like he was trying to parent him, or anything.

A couple of days later, Noah moved out. 

Weston had seen it coming just like everyone else, but it didn’t mean it stung any less to hear the news. He could hear him down the hall, packing the assortment of random shit he had accumulated in his room, as he laid in his own bed and tried to relax. He couldn’t really put his finger on why this made him so upset. Of course he was happy that Noah was getting help, the most important thing was making sure he got better, but Weston was going to miss him. A lot. So, Weston did what he always did when he was feeling upset.  
He turned his stereo on. 

He wasn’t sure when McCarthy had come in, she had been down the hall helping Logan and Noah pack his stuff last he had checked, but he was about halfway through listening to _Someone You Loved_ when he noticed her standing in his doorway. He sighed, scooting over so he was no longer laying directly in the middle of his mattress, but stayed upside down, his feet on his pillows.

McCarthy walked over, quiet for once, and slid onto the bed next to him, allowing his head to fall onto her shoulder. Finally, she broke the silence, reaching down to grab Weston’s hand. “Are you okay, dude? This is your sad playlist.”

He squeezed her hand in return, nodding against her and taking a moment to be thankful for the fact that she couldn’t see his face. Just as he thought this, she sat up, keeping his hand in hers, and looked him directly in the eye. 

Before she could say whatever it was she was going to say, a brief silence interrupted as his phone shifted over to play the next song. 

McCarthy’s shocked smirk was contained, but just barely, as the track shifted to Katy Perry’s _The One That Got Away._ Weston didn’t have enough energy left to be ashamed, he just held her gaze. Yeah, maybe his eyes were filling up with tears a little bit. That was his business. 

McCarthy laid back down next to him, wrapping him up in a hug, and they stayed there in a comfortable, but melancholy silence.

Weston didn’t get to tell Noah goodbye. 

It wasn’t that big of a deal, really, the only person who had known he was leaving so early that morning was Logan so she was the one who saw him off to his parent’s car. That was fine. Weston was sure he’d see him around sometime. Really, it was cool. The fact that he had cried again was- well, it wasn't unrelated, but it was fine. Everything was fine. 

During the few months that Noah was gone, a lot changed. 

Logan had overdosed shortly after Noah, and McCarthy had been the one who had found her, and Weston didn’t have to try too hard to understand why there was such an icy tension between them afterwards; McCarthy didn’t know how to talk about her feelings, and Logan was too stubborn to talk about hers. Logan started getting better (making Weston wonder how Noah was doing), Quentin moved in, Peter and Logan got together, Peter and Logan broke up, shit was crazy every day just like it had been before Noah left. Weston couldn’t help but feel that things had been just a little less fun, or lively, or just… _less_ since Noah had been gone. Say what you would about that dude, he knew how to command attention.

Which is why, Weston realized, so much of his attention had been on just the thought of Noah, he had hardly even registered that he had been in the bathroom for way, _way_ too long now. He cautiously cracked the door open, sneaking out to go grab a glass of water from the kitchen, hoping no one would see him. 

Of course, Weston never really was a lucky guy, so it was only slightly surprising when he saw Noah lounging on the couch in the living room, feet in Logan’s lap. Noah smiled at him, and he gave a weak smile back, avoiding Logan’s prying gaze. She was the person he wanted to see least right now, right behind Noah, but he supposed he would rather see Logan than- 

McCarthy came through the door with her usual intentional lack of grace and threw herself down into the armchair by the couch, briefly scanning Weston’s towel-clad form and playfully dismissing him as looking like a “wet rat”, before launching into a spiel about how this guy she worked with was totally cheating on his girlfriend and how she totally had proof. He wordlessly mussed up her hair in retaliation, making eye contact with Noah, who was regarding him (and his bare torso) with curiosity once more before going into the kitchen.

Weston could feel eyes on him while he went about getting his drink, but ignored it out of both fear and hope that it was still Noah looking at him. 

He retreated silently to his room to spend some more time wondering why the clarity he had while Noah was gone had suddenly disappeared the second he laid eyes on him again.

Weston already knew the answer to this question, he just wasn’t ready to accept it. 

About a month or so ago, Weston was halfway to shitfaced drunk, and he needed to talk to someone. For whatever reason, he found himself outside Logan’s bedroom, knocking tentatively. She welcomed him in, obviously, and he watched, anxiously bouncing from foot to foot, as she continued to pluck at the guitar laying on her chest for a moment before setting it aside, patting the side of her bed for him to come sit next to her. He did, and before she could even ask why he was there, the word vomit had begun. 

He couldn’t help it, it had been literal years of Noah making him question everything he thought he knew about himself, and everyone has a breaking point. He was only one man. 

Logan listened carefully, and let him say everything he needed to get off his chest, before she started in a gentle tone. “Weston, do you think there’s any way you could be bisexual?”

He gaped at her. Of course he wasn’t. He had always liked girls, and _only_ girls, when it came to romantic stuff. Sure, there had been the whole thing with Mark, and now Noah, and the handful of guys he had gotten dangerously close to going home with while he was drunk over the years, but that didn’t actually mean anything. There was a very distinct difference between the way girls and boys made him feel, and an even more distinct difference between Noah and, well, everyone else. 

He told this to Logan, who processed for a minute, before asking Weston to describe how exactly Noah made him feel. Weston didn’t know how to do that, and she could tell, so she sat patiently and listened as Weston desperately tried to work through the giant knot of emotions he had been trying to avoid.

When Noah was happy, he was probably Weston’s favorite person to be around. He made Weston feel important, he made everything make sense and the world just seemed to suck a lot less. But, when things with Noah were bad, Weston genuinely didn’t know what to do. When Noah was sad, Weston would move mountains just to hear his stupid laugh.

He unloaded all of this on Logan, and she just stared at him in bewilderment, before shoving his shoulder. “Weston, that’s _pretty_ gay. You’re like, half in love with him.” Weston just stared back at her. Her grin slowly fell as she realized that this was serious, and she reached out to grab his arm, but before she could, Weston stood up and excused himself back to his bedroom. He had definitely said too much, but he still felt too fuzzy to deal with it.

Noah being back was a lot to cope with, but even Weston knew that marrying your best friend on a bender in Vegas was not the best way to overcome your gay feelings for your other housemate. 

Shortly after he filed the annulment paperwork with McCarthy, he found himself going to Logan for advice again, but what he didn’t know is that this time, while he was being consoled through another emotional meltdown, Noah was in a similar boat but with a much more dangerous captain: McCarthy.

They were at “her” bar down the street, Noah sipping on some soda concoction while McCarthy threw back lemon drops, somehow listening aptly while simultaneously getting shitfaced. 

Noah was uncharacteristically anxious, and McCarthy could tell, but she continued letting him ramble about whatever was coming through his stream of consciousness, patiently waiting for him to reveal the real reason why he had invited her out for drinks, of all things, what with him being newly sober.

Evidently, Noah was also tired of his beating around the bush, because he took one last long drink from his straw, inhaled slowly, and then asked McCarthy with a very careful tone, “We’re friends, right?” She quickly reassured him that yes, of course they were friends, but she wanted to know why exactly he chose that moment to make sure. His next statement wasn’t exactly an answer, but at the same time it gave her every answer she needed: “And you’re friends with Weston. You would tell me if he liked me, right?” Even through her inebriated fog, she knew why he was asking, but she still wanted to hear him say it himself. She grinned slowly at him, holding a shot glass halfway between the table and her mouth, and before Noah even had the time to regret his question, she tossed it back lightning fast, slamming the glass down on the tabletop, and leaned closer to Noah. 

“You like Weston.”

It wasn’t a question, but Noah answered with a nod anyway, a miserable look on his face. McCarthy stood from her chair, surprisingly steady for the blood alcohol content she had to be sporting by that point, and she moved to sit next to Noah, wrapping an arm around his unexpectedly broad shoulders. He leaned into the touch, placing a cheek on top of her head. Letting out a dramatic, prolonged sigh, he wrapped an arm of his own around McCarthy, grumbling something about “of course I would fall for the straight guy.” 

McCarthy laughed sharply, startling Noah and everyone sitting in immediate earshot. If she noticed, though, she didn’t care, moving just far enough away from Noah to be able to look him in the eyes. 

“Look, you didn’t hear this from me, because I didn’t even hear this from Weston, but I’ve known that guy all my life. That is not a straight man. I also grew up with Mark, Noah. I can tell the difference. Straight guys don’t take two hour showers when their friend reappears in their life all…” She vaguely gestured at him, “Hot. Just give him some time. I don’t even think he knows it yet.” 

Noah laughed, but was also slightly confused. “How did you know Weston ran away to the shower when I got back? You weren’t even home.”

McCarthy gathered her purse, slapping a bill far too large for what they actually owed on the table, and got up to leave, offering Noah a hand. He took it, and she pulled him into her side, her final statement before they left the bar being “I know everything, babe. I’m the main character.” 

Their laughter followed them from the street into the apartment, causing Weston to freeze up instinctively at the sound of Noah’s voice in the living room. Logan put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She didn’t have to say anything at all for Weston to know exactly what she was telling him. He gave her a shaky smile, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans before they left her bedroom together.

Noah seemed flushed when he noticed Weston’s presence, but Weston attributed that to the fact that McCarthy had just made them walk home late at night in the heart of Seattle. That wasn’t exactly the most warm and pleasant activity. 

McCarthy had a knowing smirk on her face, and Weston wondered what had happened at the bar, wracking his brain for a way to ask about it without giving himself away. 

Logan seemed to be able to function far better than him, so she broke the silence, asking quite simply, “Did you guys have fun?” McCarthy and Noah shared a loaded stare, which broke off into a fit of giggles. 

Noah nodded, looking directly at Weston, and Weston tried to figure out if it was weirder to hold their eye contact or break it, which meant by the time he figured out that it was probably weirdest that he was thinking that hard about it, he had involuntarily made the decision to hold it. 

Weston felt like they had entered into a game of chicken, neither one of them wanting to be the first to look away. Had they been paying attention to anything but each other, they may have noticed the loaded glance Logan and McCarthy were sharing among themselves, but they were lost in their own little world. 

Logan finally broke the tension, clearing her throat. In the weird way they sometimes did, it seemed like Logan and McCarthy had merged their brains together or something, because he knew that when McCarthy said that she was going to bed and started dragging Logan behind her into her bedroom, what she actually meant was that they were going to be up for hours, whispering and co-conspiring in a way that made Weston nervous. 

As the bedroom door slammed behind them, he could hear McCarthy’s raucous laughter, and he turned to say goodnight to Noah, before remembering their bedrooms were down the hall from each other, and they were heading the same way. Weston smiled at him, but he knew it probably looked more like a grimace, and walked past Noah wordlessly to make his way to the staircase. Noah followed not too far behind, and Weston was opening his bedroom door when he heard a strangely small voice say his name. 

He turned around to face Noah, but felt his breath hitch in his chest at how close he was. He knew Noah was a tall guy, but he always felt like the rug had been pulled out from under him when Noah was looking down on him from _this_ distance, a maximum of 6 inches between the two of them.

Weston continued staring up at Noah's face, having yet to take a breath. He was less than an arm’s length away, if Weston really wanted to, all he would have to do is reach out and-

 _Fuck._ No. He couldn’t think like that, especially not with Noah right here in front of him, lowering his inhibitions like this. Noah repeated his name again, softer, breathier, in a way that let the potential of a sentence that could rock Weston’s world dangle off the last syllable of his own name. Now he knew what the fuck Armie Hammer and that Timothee kid were on about.

_Wow, Weston, way to NOT be gay._

It was then that he realized that he should probably answer Noah, so he did, probably a little too loud, stuttering out “Uh, yeah, um- what’s up, dude?”

Noah’s face was completely unreadable besides his furrowed brow, which was extremely out of character for him. With a small, almost knowing smirk, Noah leaned back into his heels to put distance between them, answering with a simple “Goodnight!” before retreating down to his end of the hallway. 

Weston sagged against the doorway as Noah walked away, trying to find his breath. After a moment, he let himself into his bedroom, sinking into his mattress. His conversation with Logan was hot at the forefront of his mind and as he dozed off, suddenly exhausted, his last thought was that he really needed to talk to McCarthy about this. 

The next morning, Weston woke up feeling like an unwilling participant in some sort of standoff. What everyone else didn’t know, though, is that Weston had made some decisions.

First things first, he needed to talk to McCarthy. Telling her would make this whole thing real, because even though she may be the worst, she was inarguably the most no-nonsense of his housemates, and as soon as he had talked things out with her, he knew she wouldn’t let him back out of this whole thing. He appreciated that, but McCarthy was the person he was dreading talking to the most. Well, the second-most.

He shot her a text, asking her to meet him in his room, knowing she wouldn’t see it until mid-afternoon when she woke up. In the meantime, he showered, made himself breakfast, called his mom, and generally just filled the morning so he would spend as little time pacing anxiously in his room as possible. 

He still ended up pacing for well over an hour.

Weston wasn’t even sure what he was going to tell her yet. The truth was simmering way below the surface, but he didn’t know if he was going to be able to say it. He figured he would just play it by ear, and whatever he said, he said. 

He was facing away from the door when McCarthy came in, but he knew it was her from her lack of desire to knock. He turned on his heel to face her, where she was already making herself comfortable on the edge of his bed. He moved to sit next to her, vehemently avoiding eye contact with her. He still wasn’t 100% convinced that she had been joking when she said that she taught herself to read minds when they were 11.

Finally, though, he pushed every black wave of anxiety threatening to rise from his stomach down, and just blurted out “I need to talk to you about something.”

She chuckled, placing a hand on his thigh, “I figured as much when you summoned me to your chambers, your highness. What’s up?” 

There was something in her voice genuine enough to make him wonder if somehow, she already knew. It didn’t matter if she thought she knew though, he figured, he needed to be enough of a man to say it to his face. He covered her hand with his own. 

“I need to apologize to you. First of all, I need you to know that I was never trying to use you, I love you and I respect you-”

She cut him off, “Wes, what-”

“Just let me finish, McCarthy. I love you so much, really. I mean, shit, I loved you enough to marry you,” he chuckled dryly, “but before I tell you this next thing, I need you to know that when we were, you know, doing stuff, I wasn’t, like, using you, I care about you a lot, which is why I’m saying these words out loud to _you_ first before I’ve ever really even said them to myself because you mean _everything_ to me-”

“Okay, what? Weston, we stopped fucking _forever_ ago. I don’t care about whatever explanation you have, it’s literally fine, you don’t owe me anything, unless you’re proposing again you don’t need to-”

“McCarthy, I think I’m gay.”

Silence fell over them as they both allowed the weight of his confession to settle into the air. The moment seemed to stretch on forever, and Weston started to bounce his leg anxiously, trying desperately to read the infuriatingly neutral look on her face, before she graciously broke the silence. 

“Tell me what you mean when you say you _think._ ”

He started into the speech he had rehearsed while pacing, telling McCarthy that he had been so sure about liking girls for so long that when he started developing feelings for a guy, he thought it was just a friend thing, a platonic crush or whatever. Overtime, though, he realized that the way he felt about this man was way more intense and real than anything he had ever had with any girl, and he started to panic, before thinking he was maybe bisexual, but he eventually came to this conclusion because when it really came down to it, the only people who had ever made him feel something worth feeling, something igniting, something _real,_ had been other men.

One man, specifically. But he chose to emit that detail for now.

She processed this for a moment, much faster than Weston had anticipated, before tackling him in a side hug that almost made him hit his head on his own headboard. 

Completely oblivious to Weston’s near death experience, McCarthy was immediately showering him in love, chastising him only for being so scared to tell her. She sat up, helping him up too, and asked if anyone else knew. 

He admitted that Logan probably knew, because while he hadn’t explicitly said it to her like he had McCarthy, he was nowhere near subtle and he figured Logan was smart enough to put the pieces together. 

He laughed as McCarthy vowed to kill Logan for not telling her this during their secret sharing session at the previous night’s sleepover, before she stood up with a shock, hands over her mouth.

He didn’t get to ask what she had seemingly remembered before she was back to her usual flighty self, ranting nonsense about how “perfect” this could be, when she suddenly turned to him, asking, as blunt as ever, who the guy was.

 _Nope._ Admitting that he was gay _and_ that he had realized this because of his massive, all encompassing crush on Noah was a little too much emotional vulnerability for one day, even with her. So Weston did something stupid.

He lied to McCarthy.

He all but blew the question off, saying it was a guy from work, she wouldn’t know him.

Worse yet, she had herself worked up into such a frenzy, she believed his lie immediately, and he saw her face fall. _That_ was weird. Why did it matter to her who gave him his gay awakening? 

She said something vague under her breath, all Weston was able to make out was “ _fuck… he’s gay but he doesn’t… that’ll_ crush _him.”_ This REALLY piqued Weston’s curiosity, but before he could ask what she was talking about, she returned to her tornado woman state, grabbing his shoulders almost too tight, reminding him that she loved him no matter what, but saying she _really_ needed to go talk to Logan while rushing out his door, but not before she kissed him on the forehead.

Weston had never felt so loved, but so completely and utterly confused, in his life. 

He briefly considered just telling everyone that day, but baring his soul to McCarthy had taken a lot out of him. Not that that was her fault, but he didn’t feel like being vulnerable any more at that moment. He figured he would just tell everyone else sometime in the near future, when he felt fully ready.

As it would turn out, Weston wouldn’t ever feel fully ready, but he got the closest he figured he ever would one night, a few months later, when they were all watching a movie. Everyone was home, everyone was comfortable, and Weston felt like everyone had their guard down enough for this information to be taken in stride, without too many questions he wouldn’t want to answer.

He volunteered to go repopulate the popcorn bowl while Mark swapped out DVDs; apparently their movie night had turned into a movie marathon night. Perfect, if he had to flee to scream into his pillow everyone would have some sort of entertainment to keep them distracted.

He spent the two minutes in front of the microwave psyching himself up. It was now or never.

He stepped back out into the living room, just observing the way that everyone was laying across each other, so comfortable and content that he figured him being gay would be a smaller blow to everyone than him detangling himself to go to the kitchen had been.

Mark graciously waited for Weston to come back to the couch before pulling up the main menu. Weston grabbed the remote from him, he was the only one who didn’t pause unnecessarily to point stupid things out, like that time they had watched Indiana Jones and McCarthy wouldn’t shut up about how fat Harrison Ford’s ass was, so he got to control the remote. 

He smiled fondly at the memory. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. This was his _family._ He just needed to stand up and do it.

So, that’s exactly what he did.

He stood up, stepping clumsily over the coffee table to stand directly in front of the TV.

He received inquisitive looks from everyone, and his mouth refused to move, suddenly hyper-aware of all the eyes on him. McCarthy narrowed her eyes at him only slightly, but must have somehow recognized the semi-nauseous look on his face, because she cocked her head before a look of realization dawned on her, and she picked up her glass of wine from the table between them. She gave him a small smile and a hidden thumbs up, which was exactly what he needed. 

He took a deep breath, directed his attention at the person he had done this with before for simplicity’s sake, and announced: “I need to tell you guys something.” 

Everyone looked curious, but genuinely interested. It was so unlike him to command a room like this, doubly so to look so anxious while doing it. 

He was pointedly _not_ looking at the one person who’s reaction he actually cared about. 

Before anyone could ask any questions or wonder why he had been frozen for so long, he spoke again. 

“I’m, uh. I’m gay.”

He mentally patted himself on the back for saying that as a statement, not a question this time, and let out a long breath as he took in the faces of everyone around the room. Mark, looking completely shell shocked, but also like he was putting everything together finally; this was the last missing piece in his Weston puzzle. Noelle, next to Mark, was smiling sweetly at him. (He really should’ve known he was gay when he didn’t reciprocate Noelle’s feelings. You’d have to be gay, or just insane, to not be in love with her.) McCarthy and Logan were holding hands, also smiling. Quentin looked slightly confused, but he always did, so that wasn’t anything to seriously dwell on. 

He couldn’t help himself. He braved a glance at Noah. 

Noah was fixing him with a steady gaze, but his face was the most neutral and unreadable it had ever been. Noah wasn’t exactly known for his poker face. The complete lack of reaction from the one person he was craving one from kind of hurt, and Weston quickly looked back to everyone else, trying and failing to force the smile to stay on his face. Why hadn’t Noah cared? Like, at all?

He pushed that to the back of his mind as hard as he could. Instead, he allowed himself to be embraced by all the open sets of arms grabbing him, even though there was one missing.

They all settled back onto the couch, and the night continued as usual, although Weston honestly couldn’t tell you what movie they had watched, because he was so busy staring at Noah, who was still regarding him with that same completely blank expression. Had Weston somehow done something wrong? He didn’t think so, but he was starting to feel like it, especially when Noah snuck off his chair wordlessly, excusing himself upstairs to go to bed early.

Weston tried his best not to let this upset him, and in his quest to be optimistic that night, he could almost swear that he heard _Sexyback_ playing from somewhere else in the house. 

Weird.

After the initial shock had worn off, or whatever his hangup had been had gotten resolved, Noah was back to his usual bubbly self around Weston, which he appreciated. There were no reservations about being just as flirtatious as he always had been, either, but a new development that surprised both Noah and himself was that Weston seemed to have a newfound sense of confidence that allowed him to not only take Noah’s flirting in stride, but to also occasionally reciprocate.

Neither one of them minded.

Weston knew that as much as he was enjoying being able to live his truth as a gay man, there was one more little secret keeping him from sleeping easy at night. Things had returned to normal with Noah, yes, but Weston wanted _more_ than normal. He found himself constantly weighing the shitty feeling of having to admire the one person he truly wanted from afar against the shitty feeling of being vulnerable only to get rejected by that same person, risking their friendship in the process. 

He spent a while considering going to talk to Logan about it, and was actually headed to her room when a bizarre wave of courage overcame him as he stepped outside of his bedroom, and before he knew it, his feet were carrying him the opposite direction, further down the hallway, and his knuckles were against Noah’s bedroom door before he could stop himself.

By the time that he realized that working through your feelings with the guy who was causing them might not be an ideal situation, Noah was opening his door, his face immediately lighting up upon seeing Weston. 

Weston was unsuccessful in holding back a smile of his own in return, and Noah let him into his room, sitting down cross-legged on the foot of his own bed, leaving Weston standing in the empty space between his bed and the door.

Weston took a moment to look around Noah’s room. This bedroom was Peter’s before he left, because in Noah’s absence, Quentin had taken over the bedroom at the end of the hall that used to belong to Noah. Noah’s new taste in room decor was… obnoxious. Everything was brightly colored and eccentric, and while absolutely none of it matched, knowing that this was Noah’s stuff made everything flow in a way that all of those clashing patterns really shouldn’t. 

Noah was just sitting there, observing Weston as he looked around his room. Weston awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, not missing the way Noah's eyes trailed up and along his bicep as he did so. They were both feeling a sense of rising anxiety, Noah because he didn’t know why Weston had come to his room, and Weston because he knew exactly why he was there, and was just trying to talk himself out of running. Noah seemed to have developed the patience of a saint over the course of the past few months, because while he never broke his gaze, he also didn’t say anything until Weston did, although as soon as the words “Can I chat at you for a minute?” came out, Weston considered giving in to the temptation to run back to his own room just to hide. Why the fuck did he say that? He sounded like a white dad. What the fuck? 

Thankfully, Noah didn’t seem to mind his little outburst, in fact he just smirked at him, nodding curiously. 

Weston turned around to close Noah’s bedroom door, missing the slightly excited look that briefly crossed Noah’s face when he did so, before beginning to pace. Noah’s eyes followed him as he walked back and forth in front of the bed, nervously wringing his hands. As hard as he was trying, he couldn’t make the words come out. Looking at Noah made him way too nervous. 

A metaphorical lightbulb came on. Looking at Noah made him nervous, so he just wouldn’t look at him. 

Asking Noah to move to sit on the edge of his own bed was a little awkward, but the adorable giggle he received when he sat down on the other side, scooting so their backs were almost touching, made the awkwardness worth it. This was marginally easier, he could pretend Noah wasn’t even there. He could just direct his words at the technicolor stuffed fox on the shelf in front of him.

Cute.

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way his shoulders brushed up against Noah’s back when he did so, and started talking.

“So, I don’t really know what to say here. Or, I guess I do, I just don’t know how to say it.” He laughed awkwardly, and even though not looking at Noah made talking easier, he really wished he could gage his reaction to what he was saying right now. Oh well. “I, um, I just wanted to tell you that, well. There’s a reason I’ve been so weird lately.” That isn’t exactly what he wanted to say, but he didn’t dwell on that too long, because he felt Noah lean closer, pressing their backs together. His heart did something weird at that, but he kept talking.

“There’s this, uh, guy. He’s a really good friend of mine, and I think he’s maybe the coolest person I know. I’ve always wished I could be even half as open as him. You can usually tell what he’s thinking even if he doesn’t want you to know. But the thing is, Noah, I, um.” He took another deep breath. “I like this guy a lot. In a, uh, well, in a more-than-friends way. But I don’t know how to figure out if he likes me back, you know? Because I, um, I really, _really,_ really don’t want to fuck up what I already have with this guy. And for the first time since knowing him, I can't figure out what's going on with him, you know? I just- he's _so_ special to me, and I'm not quite sure what the right thing to do here is.”   
They sat there in silence for longer than Weston would’ve preferred, and he really wished he could see Noah’s face at that moment, but he was proud of himself for getting that much out without too much struggle. He was glad he couldn't see Noah at the same time, however. Just picturing his face flushed with nerves was a doing a lot to him. He might even be biting his lip.

Yeah, that was enough imagination. It wasn't the time for this. Focus. _Focus._

Noah finally spoke, causing Weston to hold his breath, partially out of nerves and partially because Noah’s question came out in such a soft, cautious voice, if he hadn’t been waiting with bated breath he thought he may have missed it, “Why don’t you go talk to him about this, then?”

Weston didn’t know if the question was supposed to be baiting him, or if Noah genuinely didn’t know that he was talking about him, but either way, his desire to finally be fully candid made him speak before he could think too hard about it. 

“That’s what I’m doing, Noah.”

Even with how loud the pounding of his heart had become, Weston didn’t miss the quiet, but sharp intake of breath from Noah as soon as the words left his mouth. 

It was now or never, right? Weston let his hand travel a little further behind him, coming to rest close enough to Noah’s that their pinkies were overlapping. Weston could feel that the tension in his body was reflected in Noah’s, but when their hands met, they both let a bit of it melt away. 

The silence started to get overwhelming, and Weston figured the hardest part on his end was over, so he braved turning to look Noah in the eye, hopeful it would make it easier for him to read what was going through Noah’s head. It seemed to be, because in typical Noah fashion, all of the thoughts running through his head were clear as day on his face, forcing Weston to really concentrate to try and figure out what exactly he was feeling. Weston waited patiently, and released a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Noah squeezed the hand that was now almost completely interlaced with his. He met Noah’s eyes, willing him to say something, _anything-_

“Weston, I think I need some time to myself to think about everything.”

Well. Maybe not that.

Noah didn’t seem to have any contempt towards him, so Weston tried his best not to let his anxiety get ahead of him, even though that sentence had felt like a boot to the stomach. Noah was an honest, simple dude. It had come out gently. He probably meant exactly what he said. Weston nodded, of course he needed some time, he _had_ kind of unloaded a lot on Noah in a short period of time. He got up, gave Noah a smile from the doorway, and made his way back to his own room. He shut the door, leaned against it, and slid down to sit on the floor. He let his head fall back against the door with a dull thud, and try as he might, he couldn’t stop his mind from entering overdrive.

It was going to be a long night.

As it turned out, it was a long few weeks. 

Noah wasn’t avoiding him, exactly, but he wasn’t going out of his way to talk to him either. It kind of made Weston feel like shit, but he tried his best not to let anyone else in on exactly why. He wanted to talk to Logan and McCarthy about it, but he also wanted to give Noah whatever time and space he needed. By this point, though, Weston was convinced the reason why he needed so much time was because he was trying to come up with a nice way to reject him. He wished Noah would just get it over with so they could move on from the whole ordeal and start rebuilding their friendship.

It was a Friday night, which meant party time. Weston had never really understood how so many random people knew to show up at their place on the weekends, but even though he had initially resisted coming out of his room, he was grateful for the distraction. 

Weston didn’t even think that Noah had noticed that he was in the same room as him. He was making an effort to stay hidden in the shadowy corner he had planted himself in, and the weird party lighting and loud music was allowing him to blend perfectly into the crowd, leaving him in a prime position for people watching, although he was only really watching one person.

Noah was across the room talking and laughing with some girl, and even though he knew that obviously meant nothing, it left a bitter taste in Weston’s mouth.

He had developed a real jealousy problem since realizing why he felt the way he did about Noah. Noah was so friendly with everyone, and it made him feel crazy when he saw him flirting with anyone that wasn’t him, no matter how much of a joke it was to Noah. He knew he had no ownership over him, and he had no real right to feel this way, but he couldn’t help it. He felt like he was on top of the world when Noah looked at him like that, and he hated that he wasn’t the only one who got his attention.

As he was thinking this, his attention was pulled to the fact that Noah was now talking to Logan, and although it was loud enough that he wouldn’t have been able to hear him either way, he could tell Noah’s tone was hushed from the way his shoulders were somehow more hunched than usual. Weird.

He watched as Noah brought his can to his mouth, throwing back the rest of his sprite like it was a hard liquor. Noah then tossed his can in the nearby trash, squared his shoulders, and started walking towards Weston.

Fuck, he was walking towards Weston.

Weston tried to feign nonchalance, pretending that he hadn’t noticed that Noah was beelining for his secluded corner of the party, but there was only so much he could do to control his heart rate when Noah was standing directly in front of him, hands twitching at his sides.  
He looked up to meet Noah’s gaze, and his tachycardia problem was immediately resolved, because his heart froze solid in his chest when he took in the intense, serious look that Noah was giving him. 

He expected Noah to reject him, but at the very least he figured they would have some sort of conversation beforehand. What he didn’t expect was for Noah to put both of his hands on the wall by Weston’s head, trapping him behind a shield made of Noah.

Weston gulped. This was an interesting development. 

He had to fight to keep his hands at his own sides, every instinct he had was making him ache to reach up and grab Noah by the waist. He had no idea this domineering, pin-you-up-against-the-wall-at-a party-side of Noah even existed, let alone did he think he would ever see it. It was really, really hot.

Weston was also trying not to think too hard about how Noah was crowding every one of his senses, because for the time being, he still had control of his body, but he was afraid that if he focused too much on the fact that Noah was wearing mascara, among other things, he might lose that control.

The two of them were just holding eye contact, daring one another to make the next move. 

Given their current position, Weston supposed it was his turn to do something. One part of him wanted to know if anyone could see the compromising situation they had found themselves in, but the rest of him was too consumed by everything _Noah_ to actually give a fuck.

The denim jacket Noah was wearing over his tragically hilarious “Oh! Verdose” t-shirt was hanging open from the way he had his hands up against the wall, so Weston stopped resisting. They were in this deep, right?

He slid his hands beneath Noah’s jacket, grabbing his waist, not missing the way his pupils slightly dilated when he did so. 

Noah let out a breathy laugh, and asked in an uncharacteristically deep voice, “Are we really doing this?” 

Weston didn’t exactly know what he meant, but at the same time, he knew Noah’s heartbeat was thrumming in time with his own, and he knew what his answer was, so he spoke with a laugh of his own: “Yeah, I think we are.” He bit his lip as he saw a slow smile cross Noah’s face, still trying to force his body not to react to the take-charge attitude in Noah’s voice and body. Noah scoffed, and sarcastically muttered "guy from work", and Weston suddenly understood the short hiatus he had received. He wasn't the only one with a jealousy issue. 

His fingers stroked absentmindedly over Noah’s waist, and before his brain could catch up to what was actually happening, Noah was kissing him.

Distantly, he heard McCarthy wolf whistle, and a voice distinctly Quinten’s borderline yelp in shocked excitement, but he truly didn’t care. 

Literally all that Weston cared about was getting to feel the way he did in that exact moment forever. 

He brought one hand up to cup Noah’s cheek, smiling into the kiss. Weston knew that there was going to be another emotionally vulnerable conversation in their near future, and he had some more explaining to do to some people, but at the end of the day, nothing mattered except this. Weston finally understood that regardless of every petty little uncertainty, every pesky speed bump he had to hit to get to this exact moment, he could finally say with 100% confidence: everything was going to be worth it. They were going to be okay.

  
  



	2. Woah Confession/First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter one...... TWO!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um so this is exactly the same as chapter one except closer to new-canon. so yeah, here u go again Emily. don't look me in the eye after reading this thanks heart emoji

Weston knew he needed to move, but he couldn’t exactly remember how. 

His brain was screaming at him, begging his arms to reach up and return the sudden embrace he found himself in, but the disconnect between his body and mind was growing larger by the second as the shock wore off and the gravity of the situation settled into his chest. 

Noah was hugging him. Noah Coker, roommate from down the hall, the best friend of his best friend’s best friend, root of his sexuality crisis, was hugging him. Weston had no idea when he had gotten back from rehab, but more importantly, Weston wanted nothing more than to ask him when the FUCK he had started using cologne.

Noah finally relented, holding Weston out at arms length, and Weston felt like he was melting under the heat of the loving gaze Noah was fixing him with.

Forget the cologne, Noah was wearing  _ makeup _ . 

Weston needed to leave. He felt way too hot, way too quick, and knew he needed to remove himself from the situation at hand before he threw up all over this hot dude who was suddenly dangerously close to him. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat, breaking away from Noah’s gaze and grip with a firm pat on the shoulder and a “good to see you, man.” He quickly turned on his heel, and prayed to every god he could think of that Noah hadn’t noticed how much he was blushing. 

Weston pressed his forehead alongside his palm on the cold tile of the shower wall. The hot water ran down his back, slowly undoing the knots his brief interaction with Noah had left behind. He knew he couldn’t hide in the shower forever; for one thing, the bathroom lock had stopped working sometime during the course of the last month, probably the last time that Mark was hiding from McCarthy in here after one of their biweekly violent arguments. His mind started to wander, replaying the entire interaction he had just had with Noah.

He had stepped out of his bedroom, he was heading next door to Mark’s room to take his speaker back so he could do some cooking, and next thing he knew, a vaguely familiar voice was calling his name. He didn’t think that he had even fully registered that it was Noah yet, but he was in a rib crushing hug, and his brain was in hyperdrive. 

Weston thought about the last time he had seen Noah. He thought about the dark circles under his eyes, the way his smile had stopped seemed genuine, and as much as he didn’t want to, he thought about how it felt to find Noah, limp and seemingly lifeless. Weston couldn’t remember a time before that when he had felt as helpless as he did in that moment. It made complete sense that Noah would leave for rehab, kicking an addiction wasn’t exactly a trivial feat, and he figured the added stressors from the climate of their house was the last thing a recovering addict needed. Even as he thought about how happy he was to see Noah get help, he couldn’t help but think about the way he had selfishly moped while he knew Noah was packing. Weston didn’t even think he had ever said a proper goodbye to the guy who had forced him to start to come to terms with his non-heterosexuality. Well, kind of. Saying he had come to terms with it may be a little strong, but he  _ had _ made a realization.

At that thought, he grimaced, reaching to turn off the shower. Staring in the mirror as he dried himself off, he let his mind wander further. Noah was nowhere near the first openly gay man he had ever known, but he was definitely the first one who was so…  _ flirty _ . Maybe that wasn’t fair . Noah was nice to everyone, it wasn’t his fault that Weston read too much into it. It was just that… before Noah, Weston had never even thought twice about the fact that he was into girls exclusively. 

Well, he supposed that wasn’t entirely true. 

There had been two times as a teenager when Weston had wondered if there was something more to his identity than just “straight guy in touch with his feminine side”. 

The first was over something kind of stupid: a concert. His biggest guilty pleasure as a middle schooler and early high schooler (and, well, now) was Katy Perry, but he didn’t feel like that was enough to make someone gay. She was pretty hot, if he thought about it. But more than that, her music was what he used as his personal pep talk most days. Even though he knew there was nothing wrong with this, really, he knew it would probably raise more questions than even painting his nails and wearing eyeliner had, especially with his mom and brother. 

Being indebted to McCarthy Scarlett is a dangerous position to find yourself in, and one of the first pieces of advice he would give to anyone who was willing to listen was to never make deals with her. She was like a fairy, or a genie- things were never what they appeared to be when you negotiated with her. Like most people who were willing to be indebted to the devil, however, he was desperate. 

She had laughed less than he thought she would when he asked, and had agreed even quicker. On the surface, it was a perfect crime- of COURSE this glamourous fourteen-year-old would want to go to a Katy Perry concert, and her poor best friends were her only slightly less sparkly entourage everywhere she went, so they begrudgingly allowed themselves to be dragged along. It all felt right, even though anyone who really knew them would probably be confused as to why their resident music snob and metalhead was suddenly so okay with a bubblegum pop concert. This all, of course, rested on Mark not to blow the plan wide open. 

Mark, being just as much under McCarthy’s control as Weston, but with half the brainpower, knew just enough to not pose any questions. 

They all had an absolute blast at the concert.

Dwelling on Mark reminded Weston of his other notable sexuality crisis, this one about 10 YPN (years pre-Noah). 

They were newly 16, they were drunk, and they were having a sleepover. 

None of those things were unusual for the trio at that age; in fact, it was a pretty reliable weekend routine. This time, they were crashing for the night at McCarthy’s place, which was also a fairly common occurrence. What separated this night from every other sleepover, however, was their sleeping arrangement. 

McCarthy usually tossed herself into her oversized bed, falling asleep almost immediately, with a preconceived understanding that the two boys would find some way to sort out who between the two of them got to sleep on the loveseat in her bedroom, and which one would be on the floor.

Mark almost always slept on the floor.

This night, however, McCarthy wasn’t quite as wasted as usual, and stayed up for a while, laughing and talking with the boys, until she fell asleep on the couch. 

Another thing Weston would put in the Idiot’s Guide To McCarthy would be #2: Never wake her up once she finally falls asleep. 

Her falling asleep on the couch was unusual, but he assumed they would just be playing a game of musical sleeping accommodations, and since the evening had ended with Mark sitting on her bed and himself on the floor, he resigned himself to curl up on the rug between the bed and couch. Before he could even get himself fully lying down, however, Mark was poking his head over the footboard of McCarthy’s bed inquisitively. “Dude, what are you doing down there? This bed is like, freaky big. Get up here.” Weston didn’t even bat an eye at this, this was nowhere near the first time he had shared a bed with one of his friends. He had no problem being close to Mark. He had hardly even noticed the way his heart started racing when Mark had leaned his face over his own. 

He climbed up into bed, sliding between the silky sheets and turning on his side to face Mark. This was something else they always did at McCarthy’s house; she always fell asleep first, which gave the boys time to chat some more, usually about whatever girls they were respectively into without McCarthy calling them simps. And that’s exactly what they did, whispering and giggling to each other about some girls who have caught their eye, one of whom Weston had recently locked down as his date to homecoming. 

Mark started into a particularly dramatic monologue about this senior cheerleader from his chemistry class, and he dipped his voice low in a certain way while making fun of himself that made Weston freeze. He knew exactly what this feeling in his stomach was, but why was he feeling it right now, of all times? He took a deep breath, pushing the weird wave of nausea he was riding down. He was literally talking about a girl he liked, that’s why. And, well, Mark was laying really close to him. 

Wait, what? No, not that one. 

He closed his eyes, filling his brain with images of his date to the upcoming dance. She had pretty big boobs, boobs are cool. Probably not as cool as just a nice, broad, muscular chest, though. Mark was pretty cut. Weston had seen him without his shirt on or slightly undressed enough times to know that-

_ What?!?  _

Weston squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, clenching his jaw in the process. He was just drunk, it’s fine, lots of people think weird things when they’re drunk, even though he had only had two beers, that had to be it, he was just drunk-

Weston startled when Mark started poking at his cheek, and cracked his eyes open enough to see the dopey smile his idiot friend was giving him. He could barely even answer the genuinely concerned “you good, bud?” he shot at him because of the way his heart had swooped low into his stomach. When had Mark’s face gotten so…  _ chiseled _ ? And, beyond that, why was that  _ so hot _ to him? He knew what his best friend looked like. He could not for the life of him figure out why it was suddenly affecting him so much.

_ Drunk _ . Drunk, and tired. And, well, pretty horny. But NOT because of Mark. People can just be horny sometimes. It's not like that's against the law.

Weston forced a tight smile and a small nod, then rolled over, his back facing Mark, and gaped at the wall with large eyes. He really needed to just… push this down, so to speak, and go to sleep. He took a deep breath, and forced his eyes shut again, praying for sleep to hurry up and overtake him. 

He heard Mark sigh dismissively behind him, muttering an “alright, dude” before shifting to make himself more comfortable, which opened up an entirely new bag of problems for Weston, who had forgotten what a cuddler Mark was.

Mark was close enough for Weston to feel his breath on the back of his neck, and one of Mark’s unfairly muscular arms snaked around his waist, his hand coming to rest just above Weston’s belly button. 

Weston forgot how to breathe. This had to be some cruel trick from the universe. He was a pent up 16 year old, what EXACTLY did the universe expect from him anyway? He forced himself to calm down, breathing hard through his nose, reminding himself that this was super normal for them. Mark did this all the time, with him, with McCarthy, with everyone. He was an affectionate dude. 

Weston was sure he would forget about everything homoerotic racing through his mind right now come morning. 

Weston did not forget about his homoerotic thoughts by morning. 

In fact, he woke up with an entirely different problem that he really wanted to avoid addressing, especially since McCarthy was now awake and sitting upright on the couch, arms crossed, staring directly at him with one manicured eyebrow raised. Before he could even open his mouth to try and begin building a defense, McCarthy spoke, “Weston, I don’t care if you’re gay, but if you could just not be gay in  _ my bed _ that would be awesome. House rules. Nothing personal, the same goes for Armani.” Weston knew he was visibly blushing, which was not helped by the fact that Mark, still asleep, chose that exact moment to squeeze Weston closer to his chest, tucking his face into the crook of his neck. 

Weston felt like he had been caught red-handed doing something, even though there was nothing going on. And even if there was, McCarthy had no proof.

Well, as long as he didn’t stand up, she didn’t. 

He shifted uncomfortably under McCarthy’s scrutinizing gaze, and he tried with every ounce of his willpower to avoid eye contact and focus on calming himself down. 

Even though she was kind of the worst person he knew, McCarthy could also be a saint sometimes, and he figured it was her good Catholic girl upbringing that made her decide to choose that moment to get up and go downstairs in search of snacks, giving Weston a shot at an almost non-traumatic exit from bed.

That next week was really, really awkward. 

How exactly are you supposed to interact with your best friends after one of them gave you a boner and the other one knew? 

Mark, obviously, was as lovely as ever, having absolutely no idea that Weston was borderline spinning out of control. McCarthy was being shockingly sympathetic, but he knew that simply meant that he was living in the calm before the storm. 

One day, when Mark skipped out on lunch with them to go and try to impress that girl from chem, she struck.

Weston was sitting on the bleachers, enjoying the early fall breeze on his face as much as he was enjoying the blunt he had snuck into his lunchbox from his brother’s stash, when he heard McCarthy approaching. He continued staring off across the field in front of him, hoping that she had forgotten the whole ordeal.

Of course, she hadn’t.

She began to speak in a voice that was cautious in a way that was entirely out of character for her, a reassuring hand placed on his knee, quietly asking, “You know it’s totally okay, right?” 

Weston clenched his jaw, taking a long drag from the joint in his hands, wordlessly passing it to McCarthy. 

He knew it was fine to be gay. He just...  _ wasn’t _ . 

He had been thinking a ton, and the whole ordeal with Mark was just a product of hormones. Weston was a pretty pent up dude. He had been drunk, Mark had been really close to him, and they were at a time in their lives where everything was overwhelming. Of course his body got confused. 

This didn’t account for all of the other guys he had just realized he found attractive during this whole ordeal, but come on. Sometimes people are just hot. 

McCarthy still seemed skeptical, but she was thankfully intuitive enough to not pressure him any further at that moment, just giving him one last gentle reminder that he could talk to her about anything before they finished smoking in fairly comfortable silence. 

Weston’s little gay thoughts problem was something he and McCarthy mutually agreed to forget about until freshman year of college.

Well, McCarthy’s freshman year. Weston had no desire to go back to school after experiencing the freedom of travelling the world with his two best friends, but since she and Mark were both there by order of their parents, he found a place closer to campus to crash and reap all the benefits of college life without having to go to class.

McCarthy had a roommate who was shockingly okay with all of the bullshit she did, which meant the three of them spent a lot of time at her place. Sometimes Logan, the aforementioned roommate, was there, sometimes not, but one Tuesday afternoon, after a particularly stressful lecture for McCarthy, she invited the two boys over. Mark ignored the text, because he was in class, but Weston had nothing better to do, so he met McCarthy at the quad. 

They walked back to her dorm, laughing and talking, and retroactively, Weston wished he could time travel to that exact moment and warn himself that this was the last time he would be well and truly sure of anything. 

McCarthy scanned them into her room, and as he kicked his shoes off, he noticed the body on the futon out of the corner of his eye. He turned to take in the man at the same time he rose to his feet to come over and greet them. His blood pressure began to rise, he could feel the color coming to his face, and he suddenly felt like he was going to throw up. 

_ Fuck. Not again.  _

McCarthy was introducing him to this guy, apparently Logan’s best friend who was crashing here while she was in class, because like him, he thought the education institution was a waste of time. Weston tried his best to focus on anything except the way this guy’s giant hand enveloped his own as they shook hands, and the other man’s introduction came to him slowly, as if he was being spoken to underwater.

Noah.  _ Noah _ . He rolled the word around in his brain and then his mouth as he introduced himself in return, ignoring the feeling in his stomach less like butterflies and more reminiscent of a swarm of wasps settling in. McCarthy excused herself to her room to change before they went out to eat, and Weston tried not to think too hard, or to think at all, really. This guy was tall- like, almost  _ weirdly _ tall and scrawny, but in a way that worked for him. His clothes were obnoxious. He talked really loud and refused to break eye contact when Weston was talking to him. He had this fire in his eyes that made Weston want to learn about everything that made him excited so that he could laugh about them with him. 

This was the first time he would argue that the best way to describe a man would be pretty. 

He wondered how long he had been sitting there memorizing every detail of Noah’s freckled face, because for once he felt like McCarthy had gotten ready too quickly. 

They walked out the door, he waved goodbye to Noah with a nervous laugh, and immediately turned on McCarthy. He cleared his throat, “You, uh, you didn’t tell me about him.” 

McCarthy furrowed her eyebrows, fixing Weston with an uncharacteristically confused look. Normally Weston would be patting himself on the back for being able to catch her off guard, but his mind was otherwise occupied at the time. McCarthy stopped walking, asking him genuinely, “What would I have told you? He’s just Logan’s friend.” 

Weston balked, raising his voice, “You could have at least warned me that he was, you know, he’s-” He cut himself off with a huff, knowing that nothing he could say would be able to get him out of the hole he had just dug. 

McCarthy continued, “That he’s what?  _ Gay _ ? I didn’t think that would matter, Wes. Jesus. Stop being homophobic.” She kept walking ahead, forcing Weston to jog to catch up with her overly long strides. He knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t actually mad, just dramatic, but even if she had been, he was a little distracted by the confirmation that Noah actually was gay. Not that it really mattered, because he wasn’t gay, so he didn’t actually care. But, you know, it was good to know. Not for his own personal reasons, but just in general. What? It’s a fun fact!

His dinner with McCarthy went completely normally besides the fact that he often found himself lost in conversation, thinking about the genuinely interested gaze Noah had given him when he was explaining things as simple as where he was from. It was weird, Noah made him feel so… so seen. He couldn’t really think of a better word for it. Noah had looked right at him, not through him, no ulterior motive, not wanting anything from him except to absorb the words that were coming out of his mouth. 

Weston thought he could probably live the rest of his life happily as long as there was someone who looked at him like that in it.

You know, as a  _ friend _ , of course. 

The years passed, and the weird feelings Noah gave him never changed, but they both did as people. 

Weston had spent plenty of time dwelling on why Noah made him feel... like  _ that _ . He had already gone through the whole gay crisis in high school, and he obviously wasn’t gay, so after lots of introspection, he came to the conclusion that all of these weird feelings for guys were simply because while he may be straight, he wasn’t blind. Mark was attractive, Noah was beautiful, that didn’t mean he was gay. He could think a girl was hot without wanting to fuck her, it could be the same with guys. 

Moving in with everyone after graduation just made sense. Their group of friends had become almost obnoxiously tight knit over the course of their educational careers or lack thereof, and it was just dumb luck that a mentor of theirs had a vacant property with enough room for the whole lot of them.

Including Noah.

During these last four years, Weston had definitely begun to think of Noah as a pretty close friend, the same way he felt about Logan, another important person who he hadn’t known before college. They were pretty close, he felt like he could trust Noah and Noah could trust him. 

That’s why it really bothered Weston when he started noticing that something was off about Noah. 

It was little things at first, like when he started sleeping until 3 in the afternoon instead of 1, or was coming out of his room less and less, striking up fewer random overly-enthusiastic conversations about K-Pop bands literally no one else on planet earth over the age of twelve knew about, or reducing the frequency of his spontaneous yet mandatory Y2K dance parties.

Weston knew that something was really, really wrong, though, when the fire behind Noah’s eyes that he had grown to, well, for lack of a more platonic word, love, died down to embers before going out altogether.

He knew that he was too far gone for intervention from just Weston himself, and he was content to give Noah the space he needed to figure himself out, but Weston never expected for things to get as bad as they did.

The day Noah overdosed was easily second on the list of worst days of Weston’s life. 

He came home from the gas station near their house with cigarettes, candy, and soda for everyone as usual, but the house felt weirdly quiet. It had been pretty uncharacteristically quiet for the past couple of weeks, but this kind of quiet was wrong. The air felt too thick, and something in his gut was pulling him down to the end of the hallway to check on Noah. He knocked on the door, his foot tapping anxiously, breaking the silence by calling out to him that he had brought home gummy bears. 

No answer.

A knot of dread tightened up in Weston’s stomach. Noah had been abnormally quiet, but he would never outright ignore anyone like this, especially not Weston.

He considered leaving for a brief second. Maybe he really was just still asleep, and Weston shouldn’t wake him up. Something was telling him that wasn’t right, though, and finally deciding to trust himself, Weston forced the door open.

The next few minutes were a blur, somehow happening impossibly fast and in slow motion all at once. 

Noah was unresponsive, looking nauseatingly lifeless, slumped by the foot of his bed. Weston didn’t remember pulling out his phone or calling 911, but he did remember shouting their address through the line, screaming at the poor operator to send help, and quickly. 

He was then immediately kneeling by Noah’s side, his jacket off, wrapping it around Noah’s shoulders, the only coherent thought in his head at that exact moment being that Noah looked really cold. 

Weston held him close to his chest, thanking the universe that he could still feel Noah’s chest rising with his breath- even though it was way slower than it should be- as Weston gently rocked both of them, muttering under his breath about how if Noah died on him, he was going to fucking kill him. 

Weston had no idea how long it was before help arrived, but it arrived, and he rode with Noah in the ambulance while he called everyone else to meet him at the hospital. Mark showed up with McCarthy and Logan in tow, Logan looking particularly rough even for the situation at hand. He needed to talk to her, too. Something hadn’t seemed right with Logan for around the same amount of time as Noah, and he needed to make sure she wasn’t doing anything stupid. Like this. This was unbelievably stupid, so insane Weston could hardly even believe it. 

Sure, he had known that the party lifestyle had become more than just a weekend thing for Noah. But,  _ heroin?  _ It just wasn’t even something he thought he would have to worry about in the first place. Where do you even go from here? How do you initiate that conversation? As much as these thoughts plagued him, Weston knew that the important thing was making sure Noah got through this.

Weston had no idea what he would do if he didn’t. He couldn’t even consider that as a possibility. 

Weston was there, practically living in the armchair by Noah’s hospital bed once the doctor said he was allowed to have visitors. He checked out last minute though, leaving before he knew Noah was going to wake up. He just didn’t want to be overbearing, he knew Noah would need his space.

He also just… wasn’t ready to talk seriously with Noah. Weston needed room to breathe just as much as he knew that Noah did. The whole thing had been a lot, and he didn’t want Noah to feel like he was trying to parent him, or anything. Sure, he was worried sick. But an overbearing housemate is probably the last thing you want to see when you wake up not even really knowing where you are.

Noah never told anyone, but he somehow knew Weston had been there. When he woke up alone, he let himself cry for the first time in a while. 

A couple of days after he was discharged from the hospital, Noah moved out. 

Weston had known this was the most likely course of action just like everyone else, but it didn’t mean it stung any less to hear the news. He could hear him down the hall, packing the assortment of random shit he had accumulated in his room, as he laid in his own bed and tried to relax. He couldn’t really put his finger on why this made him so upset. Of course, he was happy that Noah was getting help, the most important thing was making sure he got better, but Weston was going to miss him. A lot. So, Weston did what he always did when he was feeling upset.

He turned his stereo on. 

He wasn’t sure when McCarthy had come in, she had been down the hall helping Logan and Noah pack his stuff last he had checked, but he was about halfway through listening to  _ Someone You Loved _ when he noticed her standing in his doorway. He sighed, scooting over so he was no longer laying directly in the middle of his mattress, but stayed upside down, his feet on his pillows.

McCarthy walked over, quiet for once, and slid onto the bed next to him, allowing his head to fall onto her shoulder. Finally, she broke the silence, reaching down to grab Weston’s hand. “Are you okay, dude? This is your sad playlist.”

He squeezed her hand in return, nodding against her shoulder and taking a moment to be thankful for the fact that she couldn’t see his face. Just as he thought this, she sat up, keeping his hand in hers, and looked him directly in the eye. 

Before she could say whatever it was she was going to say, silence interrupted as his phone shifted over to play the next song. 

McCarthy’s shocked expression was contained, but just barely, as the track shifted to Katy Perry’s  _ The One That Got Away _ . Weston didn’t have enough energy left to be ashamed, he just held her gaze. Yeah, sure, maybe his eyes were filling up with tears a little bit. That was his business. 

McCarthy laid back down next to him, wrapping him up in a hug, and they stayed there in a comfortable, but melancholy silence.

Weston didn’t get to tell Noah goodbye. 

It wasn’t that big of a deal, really, the only person who had known he was leaving so early that morning was Logan, so she was the one who saw him off to his parent’s car. That was fine. Weston was sure he’d see him around sometime. Really, it was cool. The fact that he had cried again was- well, it wasn't unrelated, but it was fine. Everything was fine. 

During the few months that Noah was gone, a lot changed. 

Logan had overdosed shortly after Noah, and McCarthy had been the one who had found her, so Weston didn’t have to try too hard to understand why there was such an icy tension between them afterwards; McCarthy didn’t know how to talk about her feelings, and Logan was too stubborn to talk about hers. Logan slowly started getting better (making Weston wonder how Noah was doing), Quentin moved in, Peter and Logan got together, Peter and Logan broke up, shit was crazy every day just like it had been before Noah left. For the most part though, everything was  _ okay.  _ Definitely not good, but okay. 

Except for the time that he had almost killed Logan.

They had gone on a drive, and Logan was playing the new Taylor Swift album, because Weston didn’t care enough to argue over music, he just needed to get out of the house. They were listening to  _ the 1,  _ and he noticed that some of the lyrics were hitting a little too close to home, and it had been way too long since Weston had an honest conversation with another human being, apparently, because instead of talking about his feelings, Weston  _ YELLED _ . A real, grown man yell, loud and shocking enough to almost make Logan veer off the road completely. She berated him slightly, called him a “stupid fucking Capricorn”, when he refused to talk about why Taylor Swift had made him HOLLER, but they moved on.

( _ Weston _ moved on. Logan wasn’t going to let an incident like that go quite so easily. Her intensive observation on Weston’s behavior continued.)

One other time when Noah was still gone, Weston found himself listening to  _ Possibility _ by Lykke Li, and relating just a little  _ too  _ much. He cursed Mark for ever making him watch Twilight in the first place, but New Moon really does hit differently when you’re missing someone.

Sure, maybe he was being dramatic, but Weston couldn’t help but feel that things had been just a little less fun, or lively, or just…  _ less _ since Noah had been gone. Say what you would about that dude, he knew how to command a room.

Which is why, Weston realized, so much of his attention had been on just the thought of Noah, he had hardly even registered that he had been in the bathroom for way, way too long now. He cautiously cracked the door open, sneaking out to go grab a glass of water from the kitchen, hoping no one would see him. 

Of course, Weston never really was a lucky guy, so it was only slightly surprising when he saw Noah lounging on the couch in the living room, feet in Logan’s lap. Noah smiled at him, and he gave a weak smile back, avoiding Logan’s prying gaze. She was the person he wanted to see least right now, right behind Noah, but he supposed he would rather see Logan than- 

McCarthy came through the door with her usual intentional lack of grace and threw herself down into the armchair by the couch, briefly scanning Weston’s towel-clad form and playfully dismissing him as looking like a “wet rat”, before launching into a spiel about how this guy she worked with was totally cheating on his girlfriend and how she totally had proof. He wordlessly mussed up her hair in retaliation, cautiously making eye contact with Noah, who was regarding him (and his bare torso) with curiosity once more before Weston made his way into the kitchen.

He could feel eyes on him while he went about getting his drink, but ignored it out of both fear and hope that it was still Noah looking at him. 

Weston retreated silently to his room to spend some more time wondering why the clarity he had while Noah was gone had suddenly disappeared the second he laid eyes on him again.   
(He already knew the answer to this question, he just wasn’t ready to believe it.) 

About a month or so after Noah came home, Weston was halfway to shitfaced drunk, and he needed to talk to someone. For whatever reason, he found himself outside Logan’s bedroom, knocking tentatively. She welcomed him in, obviously, and he watched, anxiously bouncing from foot to foot, as she continued to pluck at the guitar laying on her chest for a moment before setting it aside, patting the side of her bed for him to come sit next to her. He did, and before she could even ask why he was there, the word vomit had begun. 

He couldn’t help it, it had been literal years of Noah making him question everything he thought he knew about himself, and everyone has a breaking point. He was only one man. 

Logan listened carefully, and let him say everything he needed to get off his chest, before she started in a gentle tone. “Weston, do you think there’s any way you could be bisexual?”

He gaped at her. Of course he wasn’t. He had always liked girls, and  _ only _ girls, when it came to romantic stuff. Sure, there had been the whole thing with Mark, and now Noah, and the handful of guys he had gotten dangerously close to going home with while he was drunk over the years, but that didn’t actually mean anything. There was a very distinct difference between the way girls and boys made him feel, and an even more distinct difference between Noah and, well, everyone else. 

He told this to Logan, who processed for a minute, before asking Weston to describe how exactly Noah made him feel. Weston didn’t know how to do that, and she could tell, so she sat patiently and listened as Weston desperately tried to work through the giant knot of feelings he had been trying to avoid.

When Noah was happy, he was probably Weston’s favorite person to be around. He made Weston feel important, he made everything make sense and the world just seemed to suck a lot less. But, when things with Noah were bad, Weston genuinely didn’t know what to do. When Noah was sad, Weston would move mountains if he could, just to hear his stupid laugh.

He unloaded all of this, plus a few borderline incoherent thoughts and less than eloquent noises of frustration, on Logan, and she just stared at him in bewilderment, before shoving his shoulder. “Weston, that’s  _ pretty _ gay. You’re like, half in love with him.” Weston just stared back at her. Her grin slowly fell as she realized that this was serious, and she reached out to grab his arm, but before she could, Weston stood up and excused himself back to his bedroom. He had definitely said too much, but he still felt too fuzzy to deal with it.

Being as inebriated as he was, he probably should’ve just gone straight back to his room to sleep it off and pretend it never happened come morning. But, of course, Weston wasn’t just a dumbass, he was also an idiot. 

Which is why, instead of retiring for a calm and drama free evening in his own bed, Weston made his way down the hall to Noah’s room.

Noah’s bedroom door was open, which was something new he had started doing since being home. He claimed it was because he didn’t have any secrets anymore, but in reality it was because for the most part, he had replaced his penchant for marijuana with an incense collection, and hated the way the smoke filled up his room. Now, you always knew that Noah was home if you walked into the entryway of the guy’s floor and smelled something besides dirty laundry.

That was Noah, though. He always made mundane things, things you hadn’t even noticed were bad, better just by being around.

Weston leaned against the doorframe in a way that he hoped conveyed nonchalance, watching Noah go around his room misting all the succulents he had taken on as a hobby after getting home. As ridiculously adorable as Weston found this to be, he felt like a creep just standing and watching, so he cleared his throat after a moment. 

Noah’s smile when he noticed that it was Weston standing in the doorway was enough to make Weston feel suddenly both sobered up and very dizzy all at once. He didn’t even really know why he had come to Noah’s room, he just knew that he needed to see him. Now that he was here, though, he realized he didn’t really have an excuse for his intrusion.

Noah didn’t mind, though. In fact, he welcomed the intrusion. He had gotten out of the shower about an hour ago, and even though it was only midnight, he was getting ready for bed. Weston knew this, of course, because in his still semi-drunken state he had quite eloquently asked Noah why his room smelled like vanilla. Noah had answered easily with a smile, and of  _ course _ it was because he ran out of soap and had to use McCarthy’s. Of  _ COURSE! _

Weston settled onto the beanbag by Noah’s door while he finished watering his plants. His eyes were glued to the long, straight lines of Noah’s body, trying not to think  _ too  _ hard about how good he looked now that he was healthier and had filled out slightly. Noah was still dramatically thin, but he didn’t look like he was on death’s door anymore. No, he looked- well, he looked  _ good. _ Really good. So good that Weston was regretting drinking at all tonight. He wanted to memorize every detail of the way that Noah looked right now, and though the clouds caused by the alcohol were starting to clear, he cursed himself for letting them gather in the first place. 

Noah finished, stretching his shoulders and arms in a way that made Weston’s stomach swoop so violently that he was almost nauseous. One good side effect of the alcohol was that he really didn’t care that these thoughts weren’t  _ exactly  _ heterosexual. Allowing himself to appreciate how gorgeous Noah was, is, whatever, wasn’t going to hurt anything. He was just looking.

His face was already slightly flushed by the booze, but he felt himself getting hot when Noah turned around to look at him, arms still behind his head, the pose pulling the front of his shirt up just enough to reveal a strip of skin right above his sweatpants’ waistband that Weston physically couldn’t tear his eyes away from. 

In retrospect, Weston had no idea why he thought standing up was the right thing to do in that moment. He supposed it was probably a good thing he had done it then, though, because if he had sat and stared at Noah’s stomach much longer he probably wouldn’t have been able to stand up for reasons completely unrelated to the awkwardness of sitting in a bean bag chair as a grown man.

He forced himself to look away, eyeballing the stacks of journals and polaroids on one of the shelves Noah had put on his wall. Or, well, what used to be Peter’s wall. But it was Noah’s now. Why was he still thinking about this? He turned away from the wall, only to find that Noah was a lot closer than he had been a moment ago. Weston chuckled uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at Noah. He was standing close enough that it would be hard to make eye contact without straining his neck. Noah was… really tall, and Weston was pointedly NOT thinking about it. 

He looked over Noah’s shoulder to the wall above his bed, which was lined with 3 posters: Queen, Pansy Division, and Conan Gray. Noah had once said they kept him safe by watching him sleep. He let out a small huff of a laugh at the memory, which made Noah tilt his head at him inquisitively. God, Noah was SO close. It would be so easy just to-

The thought that he almost allowed to cross his mind made the blood rush to his cheeks so quickly he almost got dizzy, so he reached out a hand to steady himself. 

Of course, because this was Weston, and his greatest skill was making things awkward on accident, this hand landed on the shoulder of the one and only Noah.

Noah opened his mouth to say something, but Weston couldn’t tell you if any words actually made it out or not. However, he could finally answer another question that had been keeping him awake, occupying the back of his mind for much longer than he’d care to admit.

Noah tasted like strawberries. 

Strawberries, and minty toothpaste. And he smelled like vanilla, and, god, he was  _ so fucking tall. _

_ He was kissing Noah, and Noah was kissing him back. _

Noah tasted like strawberries, and he didn’t seem to mind that Weston had slid the hand on his shoulder up and yanked on his hair quite hard to pull him down into a searing kiss; In fact, if Weston had been thinking clearly at all, he probably would’ve noticed that Noah kinda liked it. 

However, Weston was absolutely not thinking clearly. All of his senses were so absolutely consumed by everything Noah, there was no room left in his brain for critical thinking. He could feel Noah smirking into the kiss, and he slid the hand not tangled in Noah’s ridiculously soft hair up and around his waist to rest on his back, pulling him impossibly closer in the process.

He turned, switching their position so Noah’s back was against the wall, just barely missing the shelf Weston had just been checking out. Weston crowded him, caging his hips against the wall with his own, and he didn’t even care that by doing so he let his current situation be undoubtedly known. At least he wasn’t alone in that aspect. 

Weston continued tugging at his hair, tilting his head further, slightly sinking his teeth into Noah’s bottom lip, enjoying the jolt that went through his entire body when Noah let out a noise not unlike a whimper at the action. Weston wondered what other noises he could get out of Noah, given enough time and opportunity. He readjusted his grip in Noah’s hair, pulling back slightly to expose his neck. Once again, Weston both loved and hated how tall Noah was, but in this moment his frustration won when he could only reach his trailing kisses about halfway up the other man’s throat. The hand on Noah’s back slid further up, coming around to rest on the side of his neck, Weston’s thumb lightly running over the corner of Noah’s sharp jaw. 

Noah was so… adaptable, so responsive to everything Weston wanted, even without words. He followed along, let Weston take the lead, and it was  _ hot.  _ That thought was something that would stick with him late into the night, and most every night after that. 

Noah gasped softly, again, as Weston lightly placed a kiss right next to his Adam's apple, and just as suddenly as he had pounced on him, the reality of what was happening hitting him like a brick. Weston abruptly backed up, quickly walking backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of Noah’s bed.

Noah looked at him, and oh  _ god,  _ he was as gorgeous as ever, chest heaving, pupils blown, blush staining his cheeks, and this room was  _ way _ too hot. Weston scrambled further away, and in his desperate panic to leave the room, not only did he do a weird wave/bow maneuver out the door that would be a subject of harassment from Noah for a long time, but he completely missed the hurt, almost bewildered look on Noah’s face as he stood there, glancing back and forth between the hand that had been on Weston’s face and the still open door, fingertips lightly touching his lips in utter disbelief. 

~

Everything with Noah was a lot to cope with, but even Weston knew that marrying your best friend on a bender in Vegas was not the best way to overcome your gay feelings for your other housemate. 

He had been avoiding Noah, as much as you can actually avoid someone who lives one bedroom over from you. It did help, though, that Noah seemed to be trying equally as hard to avoid him. Noah spent a lot of time in either his own or Logan’s room, and Weston started picking up extra shifts at work just to stay out of the house.

However, when Logan’s birthday rolled around, they all had no choice but to be in close quarters. The flight to Vegas wasn’t exactly an environment where you could pretend that someone didn’t exist, especially when you’re wedged between him and the airplane window. Weston spent most of the flight looking out said window, silently cursing Quentin for demanding the aisle seat for “all his leg”, all while being hyper aware of all the places along his thigh that were in contact with Noah’s.

The trip was mostly a blur, thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol Weston consumed on the Scarlett family’s tabs at numerous bars and casinos. He didn’t remember much, but what he did remember was Noah still giving him the cold shoulder, and that was really the reason he had started drinking to begin with. 

Not much worth mentioning happened on that trip. Besides the wedding. And Weston didn’t even really want to talk about that, because the look on Noah’s face right before he left was the reason he ended up not even remembering he got married that night. Weston was sick of living with guilt and not being able to talk to anyone about it.

  
  


Shortly after he filed the annulment paperwork with McCarthy, he found himself going to Logan for advice again, but what he didn’t know is that this time, while he was being consoled through another emotional meltdown, Noah was in a similar boat but with a much more dangerous captain: McCarthy.

They were at “her” bar down the street, Noah slowly sipping on some lime vodka concoction while McCarthy threw back lemon drops, somehow listening aptly to his ranting while she was simultaneously getting shitfaced. 

Noah was uncharacteristically anxious, and McCarthy could tell, but she continued letting him ramble about whatever was coming through his stream of consciousness, patiently waiting for him to reveal the real reason why he had invited her out for drinks, of all things, what with him being newly responsible or whatever.

Evidently, Noah was also tired of his beating around the bush, because he took one last long drink from his straw, inhaled slowly, and then asked McCarthy with a very careful tone, “We’re friends, right?” She quickly reassured him that yes, of course they were friends, but she wanted to know why exactly he chose that moment to make sure. His next statement wasn’t exactly an answer, but at the same time it gave her every answer she needed: “And you’re friends with Weston. You would tell me if he like…  _ liked _ me, right?” Even through her inebriated fog, she knew why he was asking, but she still wanted to hear him say it himself. She grinned slowly at him, holding a shot glass halfway between the table and her mouth, and before Noah even had the time to regret his question, she tossed it back lightning fast, slamming the glass down on the tabletop so hard he worried it would shatter, and leaned in closer. 

“You  _ like _ Weston.”

It wasn’t a question, but Noah answered with a nod anyway, a miserable look on his face. McCarthy stood from her chair, surprisingly steady for the blood alcohol content she had to be sporting by that point, and she moved to sit next to Noah, wrapping an arm around his unexpectedly broad shoulders. He leaned into the touch, placing a cheek on top of her head. Letting out a dramatic, prolonged sigh, he wrapped an arm of his own around McCarthy, grumbling something about “of course I would fall for the straight guy. He gets drunk and makes out with me  _ once- _ ”

“HE FUCKING WHAT?!” McCarthy cried before she laughed sharply, startling Noah and everyone else sitting in immediate earshot. If she noticed, though, she didn’t care, moving just far enough away from Noah to be able to look him in the eyes. 

Noah just stared back at her, heartbreak still evidently fresh in his eyes. She kept her arm around him as he explained the whole debacle, even down to the way Weston had walked backwards out of his room like he was scared. There were certain details he did decide to keep to himself, though. Not everything was relevant… and some things he wanted to keep in his own personal reserves. 

McCarthy finally spoke, “Look, you didn’t hear this from me, because I didn’t even hear this from Weston, but I’ve known that guy all my life. That is  _ not _ a straight man. I also grew up with Mark, Noah. I can tell the difference. Straight guys don’t  _ make out _ with hot twinks like that, but even besides that, straight guys don’t take two hour showers when their said hot twink reappears in their life all…” She vaguely gestured at him, “Hot. Just give him some time. I don’t even think he really fully knows it yet.” 

Noah laughed, but was also slightly confused. “How did you know Weston ran away to the shower when I got back? You weren’t even home.”

McCarthy gathered her purse, slapping a bill far too large for what they actually owed on the table, and got up to leave, offering Noah a hand. He took it, and she pulled him into her side, her final statement before they left the bar being “I know everything, babe. I’m the main character.” 

Their laughter followed them from the street into the apartment, causing Weston to freeze up instinctively at the sound of Noah’s voice in the living room. Logan put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She didn’t have to say anything at all for Weston to know exactly what she was telling him. He gave her a shaky smile, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans before they left her bedroom together.

Noah seemed flushed when he noticed Weston’s presence, but Weston attributed that to the fact that McCarthy had just made them walk home late at night in the heart of Seattle. That wasn’t exactly the most warm and pleasant activity. 

McCarthy had a knowing smirk on her face, and Weston wondered what had happened at the bar, wracking his brain for a way to ask about it without giving himself away. 

Logan seemed to be able to function far better than him, so she broke the silence, asking quite simply, “Did you guys have fun?” McCarthy and Noah shared a loaded stare, which broke off into a fit of giggles. 

Noah nodded, looking directly at Weston for the first time in a while, and Weston tried to figure out if it was weirder to hold their eye contact or break it, which meant by the time he figured out that it was probably weirdest that he was thinking that hard about it, he had involuntarily made the decision to hold it. 

Weston felt like they had entered into a game of chicken, neither one of them wanting to be the first to look away. Had they been paying attention to anything but each other, they may have noticed the knowing glance Logan and McCarthy were sharing among themselves. However, they were not paying attention to absolutely anything else. 

Logan finally broke the tension, clearing her throat. In the weird way they sometimes did, it seemed like Logan and McCarthy had merged their brains together or something, because Weston knew that when McCarthy said that she was going to bed and started dragging Logan behind her into her bedroom, what she actually meant was that they were going to be up for hours, whispering and co-conspiring in a way that made Weston nervous. 

As the bedroom door slammed behind them, he could hear McCarthy’s raucous laughter, and he turned to say something to Noah, before remembering their bedrooms were down the hall from each other, and they had to go to the same place anyway. Weston smiled at him, but he knew it probably looked more like a grimace, and walked past Noah wordlessly to make his way to the staircase. Noah followed not too far behind, and Weston was opening his bedroom door when he heard a strangely small voice say his name. 

He turned around to face Noah, but felt his breath hitch in his chest at how close he was. He knew Noah was a tall guy, but he always felt like the rug had been pulled out from under him when Noah was looking down on him from  _ this _ distance, a maximum of 6 inches between the two of them.

Weston continued staring up at Noah's face, having yet to take a breath. They hadn’t shared any words at all, really, since the incident, but... Noah was less than an arm’s length away, if Weston really wanted to, all he would have to do is reach out and-

_ Fuck _ . No. He couldn’t think like that, especially not with Noah right here in front of him, lowering his inhibitions like this. He couldn’t do that to them, not again. Noah repeated his name again, softer, breathier, in a way that let the potential of a sentence that could rock Weston’s world dangle off the last syllable of his own name. Now he knew what the fuck Armie Hammer and that Timothee kid were on about.

_ Wow, Weston, way to NOT be gay.  _

It was then that he realized that he should probably answer Noah, so he did, probably a little too loud, stuttering out “Uh, yeah, um- what’s up, dude?”

Noah’s face was completely unreadable besides his furrowed brow, which was extremely out of character for him. With a small, almost knowing smirk, Noah leaned back into his heels to put distance between them, answering with a simple “Goodnight!” before retreating down to his end of the hallway. 

Weston sagged against his doorway as Noah walked away, trying to find his breath. After a moment, he let himself into his bedroom, sinking into his mattress. His conversation with Logan was hot at the forefront of his mind and as he dozed off, suddenly exhausted, his last thought was that he really needed to talk to McCarthy about this. 

The next morning, Weston woke up feeling like an unwilling participant in some sort of standoff. What everyone else didn’t know, though, is that Weston had made some decisions.

First things first, he needed to talk to McCarthy. Telling her would make this whole thing real, because even though she may be the worst, she was inarguably the most no-nonsense of his housemates, and as soon as he had talked things out with her, he knew she wouldn’t let him back out of this whole thing. He appreciated that, but McCarthy was the person he was dreading talking to the most. Well, the second-most.

He shot her a text, asking her to meet him in his room, knowing she wouldn’t see it until mid-afternoon when she woke up. In the meantime, he showered, made himself breakfast, called his mom, and generally just filled the morning so he would spend as little time pacing anxiously in his room as possible. 

He still ended up pacing for well over an hour.

Weston wasn’t even sure what he was going to tell her yet. The truth was simmering way below the surface, but he didn’t know if he was going to be able to say it. He figured he would just play it by ear, and whatever he said, he said. 

He was facing away from the door when McCarthy came in, but he knew it was her from her lack of desire to knock. He turned on his heel to face her, where she was already making herself comfortable on the edge of his bed. He moved to sit next to her, vehemently avoiding eye contact with her. He still wasn’t 100% convinced that she had been joking when she said that she taught herself to read minds when they were 11.

Finally, though, he pushed every black wave of anxiety threatening to rise from his stomach down, and just blurted out “I need to talk to you about something.”

She chuckled, placing a hand on his thigh, “I figured as much when you summoned me to your chambers, your highness. What’s up?” 

There was something in her voice genuine enough to make him wonder if somehow, she already knew. It didn’t matter if she thought she knew though, he figured, he needed to be enough of a man to say it to his face. He covered her hand with his own. 

“I need to apologize to you. First of all, I need you to know that I was never trying to use you, I love you and I respect you  and you’re beautiful and strong and you deserve so much better than - ”

She cut him off, “Wes, ew, what the fuck-”

“Just let me finish, McCarthy. I love you so much, really. I mean, shit, I loved you enough to marry you,” he chuckled, she did not, “but before I tell you this next thing, I need you to know that when we were, you know, doing stuff, I wasn’t, like, using you, I care about you a lot, which is why I’m saying these words out loud to you first before I’ve ever really even said them to myself because you mean everything to me-”

“Okay, what? Weston, we stopped fucking forever ago. I don’t care about whatever explanation you have, it’s literally fine, you don’t owe me anything, unless you’re proposing again you don’t need to-”

“McCarthy, I think I’m gay.”

Silence fell over them as they both allowed the weight of his confession to settle into the air. The moment seemed to stretch on forever, and Weston started to bounce his leg anxiously, trying desperately to read the infuriatingly neutral look on her face, before she graciously broke the silence, speaking slowly like she was afraid Weston would run away if she startled him.

“Tell me what you mean when you say you  _ think _ . ”

He started into the speech he had rehearsed while pacing, telling McCarthy that he had been so sure about liking girls for so long that when he started developing feelings for a guy, he thought it was just a friend thing, a platonic crush or whatever. Overtime, though, he realized that the way he felt about this man was way more intense and real than anything he had ever had with any girl, and he started to panic, before thinking he was maybe bisexual, but he eventually came to this conclusion because when it really came down to it, the only people who had ever made him feel something worth feeling, something igniting, something real, had been other men.

One man, specifically. But he chose to omit that detail for now.

That didn’t matter, though. McCarthy had put together the pieces on her own. Still, she didn’t want to assume anything, so she would ask him to be sure. But, first, she tackled him in a side hug that almost made him hit his head on his own headboard. 

Completely oblivious to Weston’s near death experience, McCarthy was immediately showering him in love, chastising him only for being so scared to tell her. She sat up, helping him up too, and asked if anyone else knew. 

He admitted that Logan probably knew, because while he hadn’t explicitly said it to her like he had McCarthy, he was nowhere near subtle and he figured Logan was smart enough to connect the dots. 

Still, he avoided the subject of Noah like his life depended on it.

He laughed as McCarthy vowed to kill Logan for not telling her this during their secret sharing session at the previous night’s sleepover, saying specifically “she didn’t connect  _ SHIT _ ,” before she stood up, hands crossed carefully in front of her. 

He didn’t get to ask what she was thinking before she was back to her usual flighty self, ranting nonsense about how “perfect” this could be, when she suddenly turned to him, asking, as blunt as ever, who the guy was.

Nope. Admitting that he was gay  _ and _ that he had realized this because of his massive, all encompassing crush on Noah was a little too much emotional vulnerability for one day, even with her. So Weston did something stupid.

He lied to McCarthy.

He all but blew the question off, saying it was a guy from work, she wouldn’t know him.

Worse yet, she had herself worked up into such a frenzy, she believed his lie immediately, and he saw her face fall.  _ That _ was weird. Why did it matter to  _ her _ who gave him his gay awakening? 

Had- had Noah said something last night? He couldn’t have. She would tell him.

Right?

She said something vague under her breath, all Weston was able to make out was “ fuck… he’s gay but he doesn’t… that’ll  _ crush _ him.” This REALLY piqued Weston’s curiosity, but before he could ask what she was talking about, she returned to her tornado woman state, grabbing his shoulders almost too tight, reminding him that she loved him no matter what, but saying she  _ really _ needed to go talk to Logan while rushing out his door, but not before she kissed him on the forehead.

Weston had never felt so loved, but so completely and utterly confused, in his life. 

He briefly considered just telling everyone that day, but baring his soul to McCarthy had taken a lot out of him. Not that that was her fault, but he didn’t feel like being vulnerable any more at that moment. He figured he would just tell everyone else sometime in the near future, when he felt fully ready.

As it would turn out, Weston wouldn’t ever feel fully ready, but he got the closest he figured he ever would one night, a few months later, when they were all watching a movie. Everyone was home, everyone was comfortable, and Weston felt like everyone had their guard down enough for this information to be taken in stride, without too many questions he wouldn’t want to answer.

He volunteered to go repopulate the popcorn bowl while Mark swapped out DVDs; apparently their movie night had turned into a movie marathon night. Perfect, if he had to flee to scream into his pillow everyone would have some sort of entertainment to keep them distracted.

He spent the two minutes in front of the microwave psyching himself up. It was now or never.

He stepped back out into the living room, just observing the way that everyone was laying across each other, so comfortable and content that he figured him being gay would be a smaller blow to everyone than him detangling himself to go to the kitchen had been.

Mark graciously waited for Weston to come back to the couch before pulling up the main menu. Weston grabbed the remote from him, he was the only one who didn’t pause unnecessarily to point stupid things out, like that time they had watched Indiana Jones and McCarthy wouldn’t shut up about how fat Harrison Ford’s ass was, so he got to control the remote. 

He smiled fondly at the memory. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. This was his  _ family _ . He just needed to stand up and do it.

So, that’s exactly what he did.

He stood up, stepping clumsily over the coffee table to stand directly in front of the TV.

He received inquisitive looks from everyone, and his mouth refused to move, suddenly hyper-aware of all the eyes on him. McCarthy narrowed her eyes at him only slightly, but must have somehow recognized the semi-nauseous look on his face, because she tilted her head before a look of realization dawned on her, and she picked up her glass of wine from the table between them. She gave him a small smile and a hidden thumbs up, which was exactly what he needed. 

He took a deep breath, directed his attention at the person he had done this with before for simplicity’s sake, and announced: “I need to tell you guys something.” 

Everyone looked curious, but genuinely interested. It was so unlike him to command a room like this, doubly so to look so anxious while doing it. 

He was pointedly  _ not _ looking at the one person who’s reaction he actually cared about. 

Before anyone could ask any questions or wonder why he had been frozen for so long, he spoke again. 

“I’m, uh. I’m gay.”

He mentally patted himself on the back for saying that as a statement and not a question this time, and let out a long breath as he took in the faces of everyone around the room. Mark, looking completely shell shocked, but also like he was putting everything together finally; this was the last missing piece in his Weston puzzle. Noelle, next to Mark, was smiling sweetly at him. (He really should’ve known he was gay when he didn’t reciprocate Noelle’s feelings. You’d have to be gay, or just insane, to not be in love with her.) McCarthy and Logan were holding hands, also smiling. Quentin looked slightly confused, but he always did, so that wasn’t anything to seriously dwell on. 

(He didn’t hear it, his heart was pounding in his ears, but Quentin asked Logan why Weston was coming out when he had been dating Noah for months already. Logan gently told him to shut up, and told him that they would talk about it later.)

He couldn’t help himself. He braved a glance at Noah. 

Noah was fixing him with a steady gaze, but his face was the most neutral and unreadable it had ever been. Noah wasn’t exactly known for his poker face. The complete lack of reaction from the one person he was craving one from kind of hurt, and Weston quickly looked back to everyone else, trying and failing to force the smile to stay on his face. Why hadn’t Noah cared? Like, at all? 

He pushed that to the back of his mind as hard as he could. Instead, he allowed himself to be embraced by all the open sets of arms grabbing him, even though there was one pair of strong, obnoxiously long ones missing.

They all settled back onto the couch, and the night continued as usual, although Weston honestly couldn’t tell you what movie they had watched, because he was so busy staring at Noah, who was still occasionally regarding him with that same completely blank expression. Had Weston somehow done something wrong? He didn’t think so, but he was starting to feel like it, especially when Noah snuck off his chair wordlessly, excusing himself upstairs to go to bed early.

Weston tried his best not to let this upset him, and in his quest to be optimistic that night, he could almost swear that he heard Sexyback playing from somewhere else in the house. 

_ Weird _ .

After the initial shock had worn off, or whatever his hangup had been had gotten resolved, Noah was back to his usual bubbly self around Weston, which he appreciated. 

After the whole makeout debacle, Weston was afraid that things would never go back to the way that they had been before. It was like coming out had reset them, and he didn’t know if it was because Noah now knew that there had been genuine want behind his blunder, or because Noah now saw him as a viable option, or maybe both, but it was like he had never fucked up like that to begin with. 

There were no reservations about being just as flirtatious as he always had been on Noah’s part, either, but a new development that surprised both Noah and himself was that Weston seemed to have a newfound sense of confidence that allowed him to not only take Noah’s flirting in stride, but to also occasionally reciprocate.

Neither one of them minded.

Weston knew that as much as he was enjoying being able to live his truth as a gay man, there was one more little secret keeping him from sleeping easy at night. Things had returned to normal with Noah, yes, but Weston wanted more than normal. He found himself constantly weighing the shitty feeling of having to admire the one person he truly wanted from afar, living with only the memories of that  _ one time _ forever, against the shitty feeling of being vulnerable only to get rejected by that same person, risking their friendship again in the process. 

He spent a while considering going to talk to Logan about it, and was actually headed to her room when a bizarre wave of courage overcame him as he stepped outside of his bedroom, and before he knew it, his feet were carrying him the opposite direction, further down the hallway, and his knuckles were against Noah’s bedroom door frame before he could stop himself.

By the time that he realized that working through your feelings with the guy who was causing them might not be an ideal situation, Noah was calling him inside, his face immediately lighting up upon seeing Weston. 

Weston was unsuccessful in holding back a smile of his own in return, and Noah let him into his room, sitting down cross-legged on the foot of his own bed, leaving Weston standing in the empty space between his bed and the door, right by the bean bag that had started this trouble to begin with. 

Weston took a moment to look around Noah’s room. This bedroom was Peter’s before he left, because in Noah’s absence, Quentin had taken over the bedroom at the end of the hall that used to belong to Noah. Noah’s new taste in room decor was… obnoxious. Everything was brightly colored and eccentric, and while absolutely none of it matched, knowing that this was Noah’s stuff made everything flow in a way that all of those clashing patterns really shouldn’t. The posters, journals, and plants were all the same as the last time he had been in this room, but there was a lot more stuff this time. He missed this room. Right now, it smelled like pine incense.

Noah was just sitting there, observing Weston as he looked around his room. Weston awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, not missing the way Noah's eyes trailed up and along his bicep as he did so. They were both feeling a sense of rising anxiety, Noah because he didn’t know why Weston had come to his room, and Weston because he knew exactly why he was there, and was just trying to talk himself out of running. Noah seemed to have developed the patience of a saint over the course of the past few months, because while he never broke his gaze, he also didn’t say anything until Weston did, although as soon as the words “Can I chat at you for a minute?” came out, Weston considered giving in to the temptation to run back to his own room just to hide. Why the fuck did he say that? He sounded like a white dad. What the fuck? 

Thankfully, Noah didn’t seem to mind his little outburst, in fact he just smirked at him, nodding curiously. 

Weston turned around to close Noah’s bedroom door, missing the slightly excited look that briefly crossed Noah’s face when he did so, before beginning to pace. Noah’s eyes followed him as he walked back and forth in front of the bed, nervously wringing his hands. As hard as he was trying, he couldn’t make the words come out. Looking at Noah made him way too nervous. 

A metaphorical lightbulb came on. Looking at Noah made him nervous, so he just wouldn’t look at him. 

Asking Noah to move to sit on the edge of his own bed was a little awkward, but the adorable giggle he received when he sat down on the other side, scooting so their backs were almost touching, made the awkwardness worth it. This was marginally easier, he could pretend Noah wasn’t even there. He could just direct his words at the technicolor stuffed fox on the shelf in front of him.

Cute.

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way his shoulders brushed up against Noah’s back when he did so, and started talking.

“So, I don’t really know what to say here. Or, I guess I do, I just don’t know how to say it.” He laughed awkwardly, and even though not looking at Noah made talking easier, he really wished he could gage his reaction to what he was saying right now. Oh well. “I, um, I just wanted to tell you that, well. There’s a reason I’ve been so weird lately.” That isn’t exactly what he wanted to say, but he didn’t dwell on that too long, because he felt Noah lean closer, pressing their backs together. His heart did something weird at that, but he kept talking.

“There’s this, uh, guy. He’s a really good friend of mine, and I think he’s maybe the coolest person I know. I’ve always wished I could be even half as open as him. You can usually tell what he’s thinking even if he doesn’t want you to know. But the thing is, Noah, I, um.” He took another deep breath. “I like this guy a lot. In a, uh, well, in a more-than-friends way. But I don’t know how to figure out if he likes me back, you know? Because I, um, I really, really,  _ really _ don’t want to fuck up what I already have with this guy. I already almost ruined everything once, because I was an  _ idiot _ , and for the first time since knowing him, I can't figure out what's going on with him, you know? I just- he's so special to me, and I'm not quite sure what the right thing to do here is.” 

They sat there in silence for longer than Weston would’ve preferred, and he really wished he could see Noah’s face at that moment, but he was proud of himself for getting that much out without too much struggle. Though, at the same time, he was glad he couldn't see Noah. Just picturing his face flushed with nerves was doing a lot to him. He might even be biting his lip.

Yeah, that was enough imagination. It wasn't the time for this. Focus.  _ Focus _ . 

Noah finally spoke, causing Weston to hold his breath, partially out of nerves and partially because Noah’s question came out in such a soft, cautious voice, if he hadn’t been waiting with bated breath he thought he may have missed it, “Why don’t you go talk to him about this, then?”

Weston didn’t know if the question was supposed to be baiting him, or if Noah somehow just genuinely didn’t know that he was talking about him, but either way, his desire to finally be fully candid made him speak before he could think too hard about it. 

“That’s what I’m doing, Noah.”

Even with how loud the pounding of his heart had become, Weston didn’t miss the quiet, but sharp intake of breath from Noah as soon as the words left his mouth. 

It was now or never, right? Weston let his hand travel a little further behind him, coming to rest close enough to Noah’s that their pinkies were overlapping. They hadn’t had any physical contact since, well, technically since the plane, but feeling Noah’s hand against his own made him think of the time  _ before _ that. Weston could feel that the tension in his body was reflected in Noah’s, but when their hands met, they both let a bit of it melt away. 

The silence started to get overwhelming, and Weston figured the hardest part on his end was over, so he braved turning to look Noah in the eye, hopeful it would make it easier for him to read what was going through Noah’s head. It seemed to be, because in typical Noah fashion, all of the thoughts running through his head were clear as day on his face, forcing Weston to really concentrate to try and figure out what exactly he was feeling. Weston waited patiently, and released a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Noah squeezed the hand that was now almost completely interlaced with his. He met Noah’s eyes, willing him to say something,  _ anything- _

“Weston, I think I need some time to myself to think about everything.”

Well. Maybe not that.

Noah didn’t seem to have any contempt towards him, so Weston tried his best not to let his anxiety get ahead of him, even though that sentence had felt like a boot to the stomach. Noah was an honest, simple dude. It had come out gently. He probably meant exactly what he said. 

Or maybe Noah hated him for playing with his feelings for months and never wanted to see or talk to him ever again. That was a possibility, too. 

Weston nodded, of course he needed some time, he had kind of unloaded a lot on him. He got up, gave Noah a smile from the doorway, and made his way back to his own room. He shut the door, leaned against it, and slid down to sit on the floor. He let his head fall back against the door with a dull thud, and try as he might, he couldn’t stop his mind from entering overdrive.

It was going to be a long night.

As it turned out, it was a long few weeks. 

Noah wasn’t avoiding him, exactly, but he wasn’t going out of his way to talk to him either. It kind of made Weston feel like shit, but he tried his best not to let anyone else in on exactly why. At least it wasn’t as bad as it had been the first time Noah stopped talking to him. How much worse could he fuck up?

He wanted to talk to Logan and McCarthy about it, but he also wanted to give Noah whatever time and space he needed. By this point, though, Weston was convinced the reason why he needed so much time was because he was trying to come up with a nice way to reject him. He wished Noah would just get it over with so they could move on from the whole ordeal and start rebuilding their friendship.

~ 

It was a Friday night, which meant party time. Weston had never really understood how so many random people knew to show up at their place on the weekends, but even though he had initially resisted coming out of his room, he was grateful for the distraction. 

Weston didn’t even think that Noah had noticed that he was in the same room as him. He was making an effort to stay hidden in the shadowy corner he had planted himself in, and the weird party lighting and loud music was allowing him to blend perfectly into the crowd, leaving him in a prime position for people watching, although he was only really watching one person.

Noah was across the room talking and laughing with some girl, and even though he knew that obviously meant nothing, it left a bitter taste in Weston’s mouth.

He had developed a real jealousy problem since realizing why he felt the way he did about Noah. Noah was so friendly with everyone, and it made him feel crazy when he saw him flirting with anyone that wasn’t him, no matter how much of a joke it was to Noah. He knew he had no ownership over him, and he had no real right to feel this way, but he couldn’t help it. He felt like he was on top of the world when Noah looked at him like that, and he hated that he wasn’t the only one who got his attention. 

Again, of course, Noah was NOT his. He had no right to be thinking about him this way. 

If Noah  _ was  _ his though, everyone at this party would know. He would make sure everyone knew  _ exactly  _ who Noah belonged to. 

This was probably not the most appropriate place to be thinking these things, but come on.  _ Bloom  _ had JUST started playing. 

As he was thinking this, his face growing hotter by the second, his attention was pulled to the fact that Noah was now talking to Logan, and although it was loud enough that he wouldn’t have been able to hear him either way, he could tell Noah’s tone was hushed from the way his shoulders were somehow more hunched than usual. Weird.

He watched as Noah brought his can to his mouth, throwing back the rest of his Sprite like it was a hard liquor. Noah then tossed his can in the nearby trash, squared his shoulders, and started walking towards Weston.

Fuck, he was walking  _ towards _ Weston.

Weston tried to feign nonchalance, pretending that he hadn’t noticed that Noah was beelining for his secluded corner of the party, but there was only so much he could do to control his heart rate when Noah was standing directly in front of him, hands twitching at his sides.

He looked up to meet Noah’s gaze, and his tachycardia problem was immediately resolved, because his heart froze solid in his chest as soon as he took in the intense, serious look that Noah was giving him. 

He expected Noah to reject him, but at the very least he figured they would have some sort of conversation beforehand. What he didn’t expect was for Noah to put both of his hands on the wall by Weston’s head, trapping him behind a shield made of Noah. Noah’s eyes looked more intense than usual thanks to the eyeliner courtesy of McCarthy (which he made a mental note to kick her ass for later), and the smirk he was looking down at Weston with wasn’t exactly innocent.

He gulped. This was an interesting development. 

Weston had to fight to keep his hands at his own sides. Every instinct he had was making him ache to reach up and grab Noah by the waist. He had no idea this domineering, pin-you-up-against-the-wall-at-a party-side of Noah even existed, let alone did he think he would ever see it. It was really,  _ really _ hot.

Weston was also trying not to think too hard about how Noah was crowding every one of his senses  _ again _ , because for the time being, he still had control of his body, but he was afraid that if he focused too much on the fact that Noah also had on  _ mascara _ , among other things, he might lose that control.

The two of them were just holding eye contact, daring one another to make the next move. 

Given their current position, Weston supposed it was his turn to do something. One part of him wanted to know if anyone could see the compromising situation they had found themselves in, but the rest of him was too consumed by everything Noah to actually give a fuck.

The denim jacket Noah was wearing over his tragically hilarious “Oh! Verdose” t-shirt was hanging open from the way he had his hands up against the wall, so Weston stopped resisting. They were in this deep, right?

Weston brought his hand to his own chest in mock incredulity. “Noah, this is indecent. You know, I’m still a married man in Nevada.”

“Ha. Yeah, not funny.” Weston locked eyes with Noah, and the look in his eyes was enough to shut Weston up immediately. This wasn’t the time for jokes.

So, then, what  _ was _ it the time for?

He slid his hands beneath Noah’s jacket, one hand making its way home to his waist, the other once again sliding up to the backside of his shoulder, and Weston didn’t miss the slight dilation of Noah’s pupils when he did that. 

Noah let out a breathy laugh, and asked in an uncharacteristically deep voice, “Are we really doing this? You sure this time? Or are you gonna start running again?”

The last thing Weston ever expected was for Noah to tease him, but he also just knew that Noah’s heartbeat had to be thrumming in time with his own, and he also knew what his answer was, so he spoke with a laugh of his own: “Yeah, I think we are.” He bit his lip as he saw a slow smile cross Noah’s face, still trying to force his body not to react to the take-charge attitude in Noah’s voice and body. Noah scoffed, and sarcastically muttered "guy from work", and Weston suddenly understood the short hiatus he had received. He wasn't the only one with a jealousy issue. That was interesting, and it was  _ definitely  _ something they would be exploring together later, but for now-

His fingers stroked absentmindedly over Noah’s waist, and before his brain could catch up to what was actually happening, he was kissing Noah. Again. Finally. Or, maybe Noah was kissing him? He didn’t know the difference, and he didn’t care enough to think about anything else but Noah’s mouth right now. 

Distantly, he heard McCarthy wolf whistle, and a voice distinctly Quinten’s hollering in shocked excitement, but he truly didn’t care. 

Literally all that Weston cared about was getting to feel the way he did in that exact moment forever. 

He brought one hand up to cup Noah’s cheek, smiling into the kiss. Weston knew that there was going to be another emotionally vulnerable conversation in their near future, and he had some more explaining to do to some people, but at the end of the day, nothing mattered except this. Weston finally understood that regardless of every petty little uncertainty, every pesky speed bump he had to hit to get to this exact moment, he could finally say with 100% confidence: everything was going to be worth it. They were going to be okay.

  
  



	3. NOAH'S MIDNIGHT SUN FINALLY AT LAST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh my god....... hello hi hello it's been so many months and moons and I took a fuckload shit ton of adderall to get here but. Pulled a lil sneaky on ya! I do it for you, Emily. Thats all.

A lot had changed over the last few months- 90 days, if you wanted to be particular about it- but Noah was most surprised by the fact that Weston had somehow managed to become  _ more  _ attractive while he had been gone. 

Noah knew he wasn’t doing too bad himself, the removal of heroin from his daily routine had cleared up his skin and he had filled out pretty well from all the required group fitness activities, who would’ve thought, but whether it was just because the stressor of a gigantic obnoxious twink had been out of his life for a couple months or something else, Weston looked really good. 

Though, to be fair, Noah wasn’t a great objective judge when it came to Weston’s looks. He always thought he looked perfect, and if he wasn’t so hopelessly in love with the guy he would almost find it annoying. 

All this was definitely not to say that he was bothered by Weston’s borderline supernatural good looks, though. He thoroughly enjoyed all of the hours he spent either thinking or dreaming about Weston’s looks. 

It was really Weston’s own fault Noah stared at him so much. Maybe if he didn’t have such a perfect jawline, and such nice hair, and his arms weren’t so muscular and his hands weren’t so nice, then  _ maybe _ Noah wouldn’t still be lingering in this hug he had trapped Weston in just because he wanted to hold him.

Still, that was a hard  _ maybe.  _

Hugging Weston felt really, really nice. Weston wasn’t a big physical affection guy, and even if he had been, he and Noah hadn’t been anywhere near as close as Noah would’ve liked before, well, before everything. So this feeling, holding Weston’s body against his own, was alien, though definitely not unwelcome. 

Just as Noah started to panic because he realized that this hug was one sided and maybe Weston wanted him to get  _ off _ , he felt two deceptively strong arms raise hesitantly to hold him back. Weston was always a lot more reserved than Noah, but Noah definitely counted this one as a win. 

He lingered there for just a moment longer, some of the curls from the top of Weston's head brushing against his chin and the bottom of his cheek before he hesitantly broke the hug, holding Weston gently by the shoulders and just taking another moment to look him over, hoping he wasn’t being creepy. 

Weston seemed like he was about to puke, and Noah tried to talk himself down using some of the negative self-talk redirection skills he had learned during the therapy portions of the last few months, but just as quickly as the embrace had started, it was over with nothing more than a simple “Good to see you, man” from Weston, who promptly turned around and high tailed it back in the direction he had just come from, beelining into the bathroom and locking the door. 

Noah didn’t really understand the way his own brain worked. Sometimes, he would think of something completely random and he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it, even if it had no basis in reality whatsoever. The only thing that used to help was drugs, but obviously THAT wasn’t an option for him anymore, so he had developed a love for meditation and gardening. 

Noah always knew he would end up as the old Stevie Nicks adjacent woman at the farmers market, he just didn’t know it would be so soon. 

Honestly though, he preferred the senseless, baseless fears to the ones that his brain could justify, such as the current derailing train he was on about Weston’s reaction to him coming home. Weston was notoriously hard to read, and even though their star signs were  _ supposedly _ compatible, Noah was constantly frustrated by how stoic Weston could be. He very rarely showed what he was thinking on the outside, and he hated talking about his feelings. Noah didn’t love being vulnerable either, but he knew that his feelings usually paraded themselves across his face like an electronic billboard, and he just wished he could tell if Weston was excited he was home, or if he was still mad at him for everything.

Well, the reunion with Weston could’ve gone better, but it also could’ve been a LOT worse, considering the terms they had last seen each other under. Noah didn’t even think Weston had noticed that he was still wearing his leather jacket, the one that he hadn’t asked Noah to return before he- well, before he left. The fingertips from his right hand came up to rub the lapel, another new nervous (but completely harmless) habit he had picked up since he had started forcing himself to pretty much raw-dog reality. 

Noah laughed to himself at the thought of the phrase “raw-dogging reality”, and all anxieties concerning Weston were pushed aside momentarily as he floated off down the hall to find Logan and ruin her afternoon by saying that out loud to her. 

He found Logan in the living room playing Mark’s Wii, losing terribly at Mario Kart but pretending like she was winning, and just as he had predicted, she kicked him directly in the shin with her Doc Marten upon hearing his new innuendo. He settled onto the couch by Logan, tossing his feet into her lap and leaning his head back against the armrest, long legs bent at an awkward angle to fit his entire body on the unoccupied part of the couch. The rainbow road theme played as he stared up, the familiar pattern of the suspiciously stained popcorn ceiling going in and out of focus as he got lost in thought. 

How on  _ earth _ do you stain a  _ ceiling? _

But more importantly, should he apologize to Weston, or should he just try to move on?

He supposed that ignoring it wouldn’t be fair to either of them, although selfishly, he really wanted to pretend nothing had ever happened in the first place.

He wanted to pretend that he had never even considered heroin as a valid coping mechanism for all the shit going on inside his head. 

He wanted to pretend that he had never been that person who had cut everyone off, who had made drugs the most important- the  _ only- _ thing in his life. But he knew that wouldn’t change anything. The air would never be clear if he didn’t clear it himself. 

Noah sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, adjusting himself so he was facing the back of the couch. 

Maybe the  _ only _ thing worse than the guy you’ve been pining over for the better part of a decade finding you half dead on your bedroom floor is forcing yourself to have an honest conversation with him about it.

As it would turn out, that conversation wouldn’t happen until much later, but for the current moment, Noah just took a nap. 

He woke up about an hour later, judging by how far Logan had gotten in Legend of Zelda after evidently giving up on Mario Kart. She wasn’t really any better at this game, but she seemed to be enjoying herself, and Noah contented himself to watch her fumble through the same levels they had played as kids. 

As he watched her, he picked up on the fact that he could hear the shower  _ still  _ running. 

He made a comment about this to Logan, who offhandedly replied “Don’t worry about it, he’s probably just jacking off. The water bill is on him this month,” before immediately getting sucked back into her game. 

Noah laughed, but only for a moment, because he pretty much immediately started thinking just a little too hard about that. Curse his stupid fucking overthinking brain, and curse the way it was filling his head with images of Weston in the shower, with wet hair and water clinging to his eyelashes, his muscular back and shoulders tensed, head tilted back-

Noah wiped at his face, muffling his agonized groan with his hands while he slammed his head back against the arm of the couch hard enough to feel the wood frame smack against his skull. 

He was too preoccupied with his own runaway train of thoughts and new brain injury to notice the eyeroll Logan sent his way.

Noah heard the shower turn off, and dared to peek one eye out from under his hands when the bathroom door creaked open. Weston walked out from the hallway, one towel slung almost dangerously low around his hips, another in his hand squeezing at his wet hair. Noah knew he should look away and pretend like this sight wasn’t affecting him in any way, but for Christ’s sake, Weston was standing there wet and shirtless with his abs glistening like this was some sort of fucking fanfiction. He shifted his face into what he hoped resembled a smile, trying to keep the blush from coloring his cheeks too obviously when Weston returned it with a smirk of his own. 

Luckily, Noah didn’t hold Weston’s attention for too long, since just a moment later McCarthy was busting through the front door, arms laden with bags from that Korean market up the street that she was obsessed with, diffusing the tension by calling Weston a “wet rat” which was immediately met with one of Weston’s hands going up to ruin the “delicate ecosystem” of her hair. 

Noah watched as Weston made his way into the kitchen, eyes still raking over his towel-clad form, while Weston got himself a glass of water and made his way back into his own bedroom. 

Noah was trying to make his way back into the comfortable spot he had found on the well worn couch when there was a soft knock at the door leading outside. No one who lived in this house would have a need to knock, and none of their usual houseguests had any manners, so Noah was eager to scramble up to open the door and see who had made the mistake of visiting them. 

Before he had even processed Logan’s slightly stressed “Wait-”, he was flinging the front door open.

The girl in front of him was bizarrely familiar, but he couldn’t for the life of him put his finger on why. She was pretty tall, with the kind of curly hair that made Noah want to ask her what kind of conditioner she used. He could never get his to fall like that. She had freckles across her cheekbones and nose, and really pretty green eyes. 

Noah had never seen this woman before in his life, but that didn’t stop him from immediately hugging her like he had been hugging everyone else all day. 

She laughed in surprise, but hugged him back, and Noah realized he should probably introduce himself to this random girl on their doorstep. He stepped away to speak, but before he could even open his mouth, Weston rounded the corner, dressed in jeans with his shirt still unbuttoned, looking like a deer caught in the headlights as soon as he saw the two of them standing there together. 

Noah’s confusion only mounted when the girl walked over to Weston, who wrapped his arm around her waist, staring at the carpet. A creeping realization was starting to overtake Noah, but he tried not to let his anxiety take the wheel until he knew for sure what was going on. There was no use getting all worked up over something that might not even be anything, and besides-

Weston cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at Noah, as he finally introduced the girl. “Noah, this is uh, this is my- this is Heather. She’s my f-… my girlfriend.”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ **_OH!_ **

The smile drained out of Noah’s eyes, but he managed to force it to stay on his face. Weston’s…  _ girlfriend! GREAT!  _

_ So THAT’S why he had spent so long in the shower. _

The tall girl next to him,  _ Heather, _ leaned over, her head coming to rest on top of his, and Noah decided at that moment it would probably be best to excuse himself to the bathroom before he puked on her purple converse. 

Which were super cute, and Noah was pretty sure he used to have a pair that were the same color. 

Usually that would’ve been his icebreaker, but he just waved to the two of them, threw a desperate glance in Logan’s direction which was also caught by McCarthy, who was now leaning on the back of the couch, and made his way out the still open exterior door, down the stairs, and into the bathroom on the girl’s floor in record time. 

The girl’s bathroom was the only one in the house with a bathtub, which meant that Noah spending an extended period of time locked in this room was not something most people in the house would think twice about. He climbed into the tub, still incredibly dressed- his shoes squeaked against the porcelain as he situated himself- and he squeezed his eyes shut, breaths coming fast and shallow as he tried to think rationally, but his mind was already racing. 

God, anxiety was awful, but having anxiety  _ and _ being sober was almost unbearable. 

He knew it was stupid when he started allowing himself to find Weston attractive. Hell, he knew it was stupid when he started developing a crush on him. But controlled stupid, when you know the risks and take the leap anyway, that was his specialty. 

Or, well, it  _ used  _ to be his specialty. Recently, his risk analysis skills hadn’t been quite up to par. Not just in this aspect, obviously, the 90 day chip burning a hole in his pocket right now was an omnipresent reminder of his generally poor foresight in recent years. 

God,  _ years.  _ It had been years since he first met Weston. Logan’s freshman year of college was, what, over five years ago now? And he had met Weston for the first time not that far into the school year, either. 

It had really only been a couple weeks since class had started, and he was hanging out in Logan and McCarthy’s dorm as usual. Neither one of them was even there, but Logan had gone and gotten a new keycard just so Noah could have access to her dorm whenever he needed it. 

He had just turned 17 that summer, and having access to an entire college campus was extremely exciting to him at this point in his life. At first, he was terrified that he would only be able to visit Logan on the weekends or over breaks from school, but it was evident very early on that neither one of them wanted to live anywhere without the other. Noah considered looking for apartments in that college town, but they were super expensive, so he split his living time between crashing in the dorm and sleeping in Logan’s van. Finishing high school online just made sense, there was nothing  _ left _ for him in Vegas. 

Well, except his boyfriend and his parents and all his other friends. But whatever.

It was fun, an adventure, he had unlimited access to parties without having to pay for anything except occasionally spotting Logan gas money to reimburse her for all of the food she snuck out of the dining hall for him. He felt like an exotic pet, it was the best time of his life.

So there he was, lounging on the futon he and Logan had dragged over from a curb outside some frat, when he heard the telltale sign of the door being unlocked. Logan was in class for another half an hour, so he figured it must be McCarthy. He didn’t have her schedule memorized yet. He and McCarthy got along famously, though- he was so glad she didn’t care that he was always around. 

Logan said it was probably because she was doing shit that was way more illegal in her room, but whatever that meant, he didn’t care either way. McCarthy walked in, and he noticed that there was someone else with her as he stretched languidly, getting up to go say hello.

McCarthy brought a boy over. And he was probably the most attractive boy Noah had ever laid eyes on. 

This strange boy took his shoes off, coming over to introduce himself to Noah shyly, extending a hand for a handshake, which Noah accepted gratefully. Secretly, he wanted to laugh at the gesture. It was adorable, he didn’t know anyone else who still shook hands during an informal introduction. He figured this had to be one of McCarthy’s two childhood friends she was always talking about, and since he had the sun kissed golden retriever face to associate with Mark already, he figured this had to be-

Weston. The name left McCarthy’s name just as he came to the conclusion. 

Weston was straight up gorgeous. 

Mark had reminded him of a small, condensed sun when they had met- he was so bright and exuberant and warm, and immediately made Noah feel at ease. 

Weston was different. He reminded Noah of nighttime. His features were dark, and Noah could sense the brooding right away. He had an air of mystery to him, and Noah wondered if he was the kind of guy who liked to sit back and observe situations before jumping in. He seemed more like a thinker.

God, Noah was glad he wasn’t a morning person.

Their hands were still clasped, and while Noah’s hands may be bigger than Weston’s in the sense that he had long, feminine fingers- there was something about Weston’s slightly shorter, far wider hands that really did it for Noah. 

You could tell that Weston was a hard worker; the callouses deeply ingrained in the skin there didn’t leave any room for debate on that subject. 

Weathered, rough- mechanic’s hands, as he would eventually learn- Noah would spend plenty of nights in the future fantasizing about every detail of those very hands. 

Eventually, they released their grip on each other, and got to talking about everything from their shared disdain for the university system to the best coffee shops near campus. Noah learned that Weston had an apartment nearby, and he also learned that Weston was a few years older than him. Weston’s surprise when he learned that Noah was 17, which came up only because Noah was very upset about not being able to accept Weston’s invitation to check out this new brewery. Weston wasn’t quite 21 yet either, his birthday was a few weeks after McCarthy’s, but he was seemingly thrown off guard by the fact that Noah was, indeed, underaged, which Noah counted as a win. 

McCarthy came out of her room way sooner than Noah was ready to stop talking to Weston, and it seemed like Weston felt the same way, because it was his idea to exchange numbers. 

He hoped Weston couldn’t see the way his hands started shaking ever so slightly when they exchanged phones to type their numbers in. Noah, being who he is, made his contact in Weston’s phone “KnowUh”, with a few too many H’s, followed by the pink heart emoji with the arrow through it, the little sun emoji, and the pink heart with sparkles on it.

Noah wouldn’t find out until many years later that Weston never changed it.

McCarthy and Weston eventually departed, off to wherever they were off to, and Noah reclaimed his position on the futon, grinning at the simple “weston :^)” that had been added to his contacts. 

_ He had a crush on an older man. An older  _ straight _ man, maybe, but regardless, he couldn’t wait to gush about this to Logan. _

Logan was not as excited about this as Noah was. Of course, she was as supportive as always, but she found herself rolling her eyes as he endlessly gushed about Weston. She was on her phone for half the conversation, which Noah didn’t really mind, until she interrupted him by saying “Just so you know, Weston’s straight.” He demanded to know how she knew this, snatching the phone out of her hand and reading the texts she had exchanged with a contact called “annoying roommate (kiss emoji)”, starting with one Logan had sent about 10 minutes ago that just said “hey lol noah thinks weston is hot” which was quickly followed up by another one from Logan reading “he’s not str8 is he”, to which McCarthy had, tragically, replied “He claims to be, idk either way he’s DEFINITELY homophobic”, followed by a second text of her own, which consisted of just two emojis, the eye roll and the puking face. 

As amusing as their respective texting styles were, the contents of the messages made Noah’s heart sink. He knew McCarthy was joking about the homophobia part, but the newfound knowledge of Weston’s heterosexuality put a damper on his mood. 

Well, a slight one. Logan almost wished it had made him sadder, because if she had to hear  _ Guys My Age _ one more time, not only would she be taking away Noah’s access to the AUX, she would be taking away his access to life.

Noah let out a pitiful chuckle at this memory. His ass was numb from the awkward way he had been sitting in the bathtub this whole time, and his fingertips had gone numb from the rhythm he had set with them, running over the jagged edge of a broken wall tile right above the faucet, back and forth and back and forth until he had calmed down his breathing enough to feel comfortable with climbing out of the tub. 

He opened the bathroom door and Logan was there, hand raised like she was about to knock but had been interrupted. Noah forced a smile onto his face, proud of himself for not crying while he was in there, because if anyone would be able to tell that he was not having a great time right now, it would be Logan. 

He knew that she knew that something was up, but he appreciated the unspoken agreement to leave the issue unaddressed. Instead, Logan invited him to join them upstairs where everyone, including Weston’s  _ girlfriend,  _ was going to be having dinner. 

Apparently, McCarthy had volunteered to cook Noah’s welcome home dinner, but due to her track record they had all decided it would be best if they just got takeout from the Chinese place Noah always wanted to go to on his birthday. 

Dinner was nice. The food was good, the conversation was exactly what he expected from this crowd (most notable and hilarious to Noah being when McCarthy leaned over to squint suspiciously into Logan’s bowl to ask her what kind of chicken she was eating, only for everyone to erupt into laughter when Logan informed her that it was shrimp, which then lead into McCarthy ranting about how disgusting shrimp, or “cockroaches of the sea” actually are), but Noah couldn’t stop watching the way Weston was interacting with his girlfriend. Any time they leaned closer to one another, or she touched his arm when she laughed, he would steal a glance in Noah’s direction, like Weston was afraid it would upset him. 

And it  _ did,  _ everything she did twisted the knife in Noah’s stomach to the point where he didn’t feel like eating, and it only made him feel worse when he thought about the fact that she was doing absolutely nothing wrong. 

She seemed so sweet and genuine, and Noah supposed she must make Weston happy, so why couldn’t he just pretend to be okay with this? Noah knew that Weston had to be at least slightly aware of his crush on him, he had never really made an effort to hide his feelings, and his flirting was anything but subtle, but he also knew there was an invisible kind of restraint that came along with not wanting to be seen as predatory to his heterosexual crush.

He knew that his feelings towards Weston were probably as much of a joke to him as occasionally flirting back was. Regardless, he hated the idea that Weston was gauging how he should interact with his girlfriend based on Noah. 

He knew he was sensitive,  _ everyone  _ knew he was sensitive, but he hated driving a wedge between two people in a relationship. Sure, there was a horribly selfish part of him that took a great deal of joy in how Weston was splitting his attention for him, but at least he had the decency to be ashamed of that part. 

The evening was pretty much uneventful after that, up until Weston’s girlfriend was getting ready to leave. They had all elected to play a game of Moscow Spa (©) after they finished eating, and Noah found himself starting to enjoy the company of this girl. She seemed to understand everyone’s bizarre sense of humor, and didn’t even make a fuss about how completely nonsensical the game was. He knew that Weston wouldn’t date someone who wasn’t funny, cool, and smart, but it somehow both eased the sting and rubbed salt in the wound to know how awesome this girl was. Ultimately, though, above his jealousy and this weird, unjustified possessiveness that kept threatening to boil over, he was just happy to see Weston happy. 

He did find it a little weird that Weston wasn’t being at all affectionate with this girl, being no more touchy with her than he would be with McCarthy or Mark. But he figured that was just Weston being courteous too, so who was he to complain. 

It was pretty late when they decided to call it, and Noah watched as Weston stood up first, extending a hand to his girlfriend to help her off the floor. Noah looked away before they kissed, helping Logan arrange all the cards into something resembling an orderly pile before securing it with the disgusting excuse for a rubber band they still kept around. 

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, really, he just happened to have a filter in his brain that tuned everyone else out and amplified Weston’s voice, so when he heard him asking his girlfriend if they could “talk” before she left, it was really an honest accident.

They walked across the living room, Weston studying the carpet quite intensely the whole time they made their way into his bedroom. Once the door closed, he couldn’t hear anything, but he was fairly certain he didn’t  _ want  _ to hear whatever was going on in there. 

The evening was coming to its natural close, and a couple of people had already gone to their rooms, but he and McCarthy decided they wanted to watch Indiana Jones since they were the only ones left upstairs and everyone else in the house refused to watch that movie if either one of them were home,  _ especially _ McCarthy. He had never met another girl who understood the eighth wonder of the world which was Harrison Ford’s fat ass like she did. 

He sat on the couch next to her, wiggling around and eventually dropping his head into her lap, knowing she would play with his hair with her long nails if he did so, which was a win for everyone involved. 

They weren’t that far into the movie, Marion hadn’t even made her first appearance yet, when a bedroom door opened. Noah worried for a second that he and McCarthy were being too loud, but he pretty quickly realized something else was going on when he saw Weston and Heather making their way towards the front door, and realized that she wasn’t staying over tonight at the same moment he realized that she was crying. 

She turned around and said something to Weston, just slightly too quiet for Noah to hear, before her hand came up to pat his shoulder reassuringly. Noah’s heart jumped when her watery eyes made their way over to him, locking him in a stare before shooting him a sad smile, mouthing “good luck,” and leaving, slamming the door with a note of finality. 

This was bizarre enough to make Noah sit up, one side of his hair flat and sticking at an odd angle from his position in McCarthy’s lap, and he and McCarthy both stared at Weston, waiting for him to say something and break the tension. Weston came over and collapsed in the armchair, simply muttering “We broke up.”

Noah’s eyes went wide, but before he could think of an appropriate thing to say over the ecstatic cheering happening in his head, McCarthy was halfway to the door, yelling something at Weston about what an ass he was to let her leave, saying she was going to give her a ride home.

The front door slammed shut a second time, leaving Noah and Weston in awkward silence. Finally, Noah mustered up a simple “sorry, man,” and Weston blew out a quick breath, disturbing the curls that had fallen over his forehead. 

“‘S fine,” Weston eventually muttered, following it with “Probably better this way. I wasn’t really being fair to her.” Noah braved a glance at Weston upon hearing that comment, and he was surprised to find Weston already staring at him when he did so. 

Weston blinked and looked away, as if Noah’s acknowledgement had startled him, and he pushed himself back up out of the chair, heading back to his room with nothing more than a “sleep well, dude.”

Wasn’t really being  _ fair  _ to her? What on  _ earth  _ could that possibly mean?

Noah resigned himself to pouting on the couch and waiting for McCarthy to come back while he mulled it over, but not only did McCarthy not come back in, he was pretty sure he never heard the garage door open when she left in the first place. Whatever.

Noah must’ve fallen asleep on the couch at some point, because he woke up horrifically stiff and with a blanket around him. Who tucked him in last night? 

He sat up slowly, stretching out his sore body as he replayed the events of last night. Noah found it much easier to keep track of the days now that he was sober, which was a noble concept, but in his sleepy disorientation, he had temporarily forgotten about the breakup. 

He stood up, meandering out the door and downstairs to go gossip with McCarthy. 

_ It wasn’t  _ really _ gossiping if the other person already knew the tea _ , he told himself, and as he took out his phone and checked the time he resigned himself to the fact that he would probably be sitting alone in the girl’s living room for a while until McCarthy woke up.

What he  _ didn’t  _ expect to see at 8:45 in the morning on the Sabbath was McCarthy, sitting on the kitchen counter drinking a cup of coffee. Sure, her being in a state of undress that was definitely bordering indecent was enough of an indicator that this was real life, but he didn’t think he had seen her between the hours of 7 am and noon since college. Regardless, what was most confusing was surprisingly not seeing McCarthy awake, but her denying being the one who tucked him in. If not her, then who?

The next shock to his system came when Weston’s now ex-girlfriend came sauntering out of McCarthy’s bedroom. He shot McCarthy an incredulous look, because he knew she was ballsy, but  _ seriously?  _

They would talk after Heather got her things together and McCarthy called her an uber, and McCarthy  _ claimed _ that they hadn’t had sex, she  _ claimed _ that Heather had just been upset and tired and McCarthy let her crash in her room and slept on the couch, but there was absolutely no part of Noah that believed that. 

The weeks following the breakup were blissfully normal. The first few days were a little tense, at least from Noah’s perspective, but he and Weston quickly found themselves back in their old dance of flirting and wondering if the other one meant it or not. 

Noah felt bad for the first couple of days, because he felt bad about everything all the time, but also because he had this deep seated fear that he had been the homewrecker that had torn Weston’s relationship apart. 

Of course, he eventually came to his senses, and realized that in order to be a homewrecker, Weston would have to actually be  _ attracted  _ to him. 

One day, though, their comfortable routine was interrupted in what Noah would have to say was the  _ least _ expected way possible. 

The morning had started out pretty normal. Noah woke up around 10, and he was starving. Last night he and Logan had smoked a little weed, and by the time they had figured out that they were even hungry Taco Bell was closed, which was incredibly fucking homophobic. 

Anyway, he woke up, stretched, and made his way to the kitchen to make breakfast, but when he got out there he saw that Weston was already standing at the stove. He was mixing something around in a pan, and it smelled delicious, but Noah was more preoccupied with how incredibly delicious Weston looked while doing it. 

Noah was no stranger to Weston doing things with his hands that would send him into a conniption fit, but for some reason, on this specific morning, everything Weston was doing was obnoxiously attractive to Noah. The subtle way that his bicep flexed when he picked up a pan, or even just the concentrated look on his face when he tasted whatever it was he was cooking and expertly picked what spice or flavor to add to it. Was that cooking terminology? Who cares. 

What really did it for him this morning, though, was Weston asking him if he was going to eat with him in his super gruff morning voice, like Noah had any chance at refusing that even if he wanted to. 

He sat down at the table while Weston brought out two empty plates, setting one in front of Noah and placing the other across the table at the seat opposite him. Weston walked back into the kitchen and came back out with another plate piled high with pancakes, the syrup bottle dangling off his pinky finger. He set all of these items on the table in front of Noah, and they seemed to realize at the same time that Weston had forgotten to bring out any silverware, because he immediately rushed back into the kitchen and came out again a second later with two forks and for some reason, three knives, in hand. 

He handed Noah one set of silverware and placed the other by his plate before regarding the spare knife with confusion, as though he had not been the one to get it from the kitchen. 

Weston was often doing things that didn’t exactly make sense, and Noah figured that it was because like him, he let his actions get ahead of his thoughts sometimes. 

Noah would find out later that night just how true  _ that _ was. 

For now, however, he just enjoyed the food and the company. Their conversation was all over the place, but Noah was having a great time. He and Weston always seemed to be able to keep up with each other, no matter how bizarre and niche the direction the conversation took them in was. Eventually, though, they both had to go about their day. Weston was taking some online classes from the college nearby, and Noah had made fun of him for being a nerd for having to do homework, but Weston also had to work a part time shift at the mechanic’s shop or whatever it was called. 

Noah’s plan for the day consisted of cleaning his room and not much else, although “imagining Weston in his mechanic’s costume” was now high up on his list of his priorities as well. 

They finished breakfast, washing their plates together, and Noah was incredibly aware of how his hip kept bumping against Weston’s while they cleaned and dried their dishes. Every time one of Weston’s arms reached around behind Noah to grab a dish brush or a towel, Noah would get distracted by the solid warmth of his muscles and get lost in his own head for a second, so it ended up taking probably way longer than it should have to wash three plates. 

Weston went to his room to get ready for work, and Noah went back to his own and tried to think of other ways to pass the time today as he sorted the clothes strewn about his room, taking inventory of the almost alarming amount of shirts he owned. 

The day was pretty uneventful. 

Noah finished cleaning his room a little after lunch, and he was quite pleased with how it had turned out. He hadn’t had the house to himself in a while, but everyone was at work, and he was having a lot of fun playing his music as loudly as he wanted without anyone complaining. 

Eventually, though, he got really bored, and even deep cleaning and organizing everything didn’t fill enough of his day to satisfy him. He got dressed and took a walk down to the coffee shop where Logan worked, before remembering that today was a day that she was working at the tattoo parlor, which meant he couldn’t get an employee discount on his iced coffee. Since he was here, though, he got his coffee and a sandwich and had lunch before heading back to the empty house. 

God, he really needed to get a job. He was so fucking  _ bored.  _ He couldn’t even drive.

He stomped up both flights of stairs before making his way to his bedroom, where he threw himself face first on his bed to wallow in his loneliness for a while, but the silence and lack of attention must have gotten to him, because the next thing he knew he woke up to voices nearby and the smell of something cooking. His people were home.

Noah sat up with a grin, and stood up off the bed, walking first to the bathroom. 

As he made his way to the sink to wash his hands, he caught sight of his reflection. He looked a little tired, his clothes were rumpled from his impromptu nap, but he was genuinely proud of himself. He looked happy, and he looked healthy. 

When he looked in the mirror, he was no longer immediately worried about himself, and his first thoughts weren’t about how he was going to hide himself from everyone so they wouldn’t be worried too. 

However, he did need to hide that  _ hair.  _ Jesus, had he really gone out looking like  _ that? _ He grabbed Mark’s can of “Flirty Floral” dry shampoo and made quick work of it, trying to fluff his curls into something presentable to make his appearance at dinner, because he didn’t think he could sneak off to take one of his infamously long showers while all the actually hardworking people that lived here fought over the only two bathrooms in the house. 

On that note, Noah left the bathroom and was immediately swept up in the usual chaos of dinnertime.  _ Everyone _ was yelling but no one was angry, the sights and smells coming from every angle made it borderline impossible to even begin to formulate a guess at what they were going to be eating that night, and overall the entire scene was just an assault on the senses, as usual. 

It made Noah’s heart feel full. 

He was really glad that he hadn’t died. He needed to take in the little things more often. 

In that specific moment, however, the little thing was the serving spoon flying directly towards his head. He managed to maneuver his lanky body out of the way before it made contact, but with the projectile came a whole new round of laughter and shouts that broke him from his sentimental trance and launched him into this weird food fight cold war that was currently happening in the kitchen.

Dinner wasn’t anything special. They all ate together, and they all talked about their day, and they were all loud and extremely inappropriate. 

Noah supposed there was probably an alternate universe where they were all terribly ill-mannered pirates on the same ship, which was a fun thought path to get lost on. Weston would probably look hot in pirate clothes. To be fair,  _ everyone _ looked hot in tight pants and giant shirts, and Weston looked hot in everything, so it wasn’t an outrageous conclusion to come to. 

Weston in pirate clothes, that was a fun and fresh new image to add to his mental reserves. 

By the time they all finished dinner it was getting pretty late, and the weird-in-a-good-way mood everyone was in meant there was a mad dash to the kitchen to race to be the one to do the dishes, but since Noah had missed whatever inciting incident had put everyone in this bizarre mood, he figured this was a good enough time to sneak away and go take a shower to try and solve his hair problem. 

Mark had already claimed the upstairs bathroom, so he made his way downstairs to the girl’s floor. It wasn’t until he was in the shower, completely soaked, that he realized that all of his soaps and other showertime concoctions were in the upstairs bathroom. Noelle had some delicious smelling shampoo that was definitely not for his hair type, and Logan had 3-in-1. 

Neither one of those were even slightly viable options. 

McCarthy’s shampoo was expensive, and he probably shouldn’t use it without asking her, but he had always been an ask for forgiveness over permission sort of guy. 

Noah almost immediately regretted this decision, because McCarthy was terrifying and probably had a bloodhound nose and this soap smelled  _ very _ strongly of vanilla, but it was too late now. He showered, and when he emerged, he had to admit that he already felt much better. Maybe he should’ve started taking more showers instead of doing heroin.

Giggling to himself at his own morbid joke, he grabbed his phone, and was startled to see that it was already a quarter to 11. He should probably just start getting ready for bed. 

He went back upstairs to brush his teeth and out his pajamas on, surprisingly excited to go to bed for someone that had spent almost their whole day asleep. 

Noah’s nighttime routine had changed pretty drastically since he had gotten sober, and since he had used up his once a week smoke pass with Logan last night, he decided to just light some incense while he watered all his plants before falling blissfully asleep. Sage and citrus was his favorite one, but he hated the way the smoke filled up his room, so he decided to just leave his door open. Everyone was either in their own room or someone else’s, so he wasn’t worried about letting the smell of the incense waft out into the hallway. 

Noah picked up the plant mister that his sponsor had given him as a gift to help with the plants he had grown a fondness for during rehab. He found it very soothing, to take care of something that was low stakes but high reward. All his plants had names, and Noah really enjoyed talking to them. 

He was about halfway through tending to all of them when he heard someone clear their throat over by his door. Startled, because he had just started ranting to his English ivy about how unjust it was that they  _ still  _ hadn’t arrested the queen for Princess Diana’s murder, his fears quickly settled as soon as he saw that it was just Weston. 

Well, not  _ just _ Weston. He had often dreamed about Weston coming to visit him in his room at midnight. 

To be fair, in this situation he always pictured himself wearing something other than his Hufflepuff pajama set that hadn’t fit him since high school, but beggars can’t be choosers. 

Noah gave him a sincere smile, and set his mister down to direct his attention towards the possibly intoxicated Weston in his doorway. He wondered why exactly Weston was here, not that he  _ needed _ a reason, but he didn’t usually come to Noah’s room just because. 

Weston shuffled back and forth on his feet, looking everywhere besides at Noah, before he finally met his eyes and simply asked “Why does your room smell like vanilla?” 

This made Noah smile deeper, because it was absolutely the  _ last _ question he expected to be asked. He told Weston about the whole debacle with McCarthy’s soap, and Weston listened, seemingly enthralled, as he settled down on the beanbag right by Noah’s door. 

Noah didn’t really know why that thing was still in his room, it wasn’t comfortable for anyone larger than Logan to sit on, but with that thought he also answered his own question. He kept it around because Logan would probably kill him, and/or cry, if he got rid of it. Either way, Weston looked adorable with his long legs folded up to his chest, trying to feign nonchalance while Noah finished his nightly chore. 

He watered his last plant, stretching his arms above his head to try and loosen the tension that had gathered in his shoulders. Arms behind his head, he turned around to face Weston, who’s eyes were very obviously locked on Noah’s exposed lower stomach. Noah felt like a deer caught in the headlights for a moment, but Weston broke the moment, standing up as quickly as a grown man could stand up when he was sitting on a beanbag, and went over to look at the shelf that Noah kept on his wall. 

Noah had a habit of bringing his polaroid camera with him to every social gathering that had started back in high school, so the stack of pictures sitting by his journal was definitely a decent size. Propped up next to the pile was his personal favorite, from the first party after they had all officially moved into the house.

Everyone was wasted but they all looked ecstatic, and Noah had one arm draped across Weston’s shoulders. Everyone was touching in some way or another in these pictures; the focal point of the image was actually Peter, whose legs were being supported by Weston and Logan as Mark and McCarthy grabbed him under the armpits and held him up for the picture, but this was Noah’s favorite not just because it had been such a good night, but because someone had told a joke at the exact moment the picture was taken, so Noah’s head was thrown back in laughter, but most importantly was how Weston was looking at him with pure adoration. That had been the only picture he had taken to put up in his room when he was inpatient. 

Everyone was carefree, and Weston was looking at only him. It was a great one. 

He had crept up behind Weston while he had been checking out the shelf to look over his shoulder, and he thought he must’ve startled him, because when Weston turned around to face him he let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. 

Well, saying he let out any noise was an exaggeration, because whatever sound Weston was  _ trying  _ to make was strangled and caught in his throat. 

Noah found it incredibly endearing, of course.

Weston’s eyes quickly darted up to his, and his face gained the slightest tint when he looked away. Noah watched his eyes break away from his own, watching as Weston scanned over the posters he had above his bed. He was slightly embarrassed; the Queen, Conan Gray, and Pansy Division posters painted a picture of him that was in no way inaccurate, but made Noah feel awkward now that Weston was looking at them. He just wanted Weston to like him, and if he had to take down the incredibly gay poster arsenal for that to happen, he would.

Not that the posters were the deciding factor in whether or not Weston liked him, because of Weston’s tragic heterosexuality. 

But regardless, he’d do it if he had to.

Weston made another noise that might have been a laugh but could’ve just as easily been a cry for help, and Noah looked down at him, tilting his head slightly in that way that always made McCarthy say he looked like a confused puppy. 

He looked up, making eye contact again, and it almost looked like he was panicking about something. Weston hadn’t really said much since he had come in here, maybe he was just choking to death on something and Noah was too worried about his posters and how cute Weston was to notice. 

Right when Noah started to worry about that as an actual possibility, Weston’s hand shot out, grabbing his shoulder. Noah opened his mouth to make a “are we about to kiss right now” joke, praying that his voice wouldn’t crack when he did so, but before he got the chance to speak Weston leaned in and kissed him.

Cool, Weston was kissing him. He was definitely handling this normally. His brain for sure wasn’t bluescreening right now. He was not panicking and wasn’t freaking out. In fact, he was quite incredibly calm. This was cool. Very cool and normal. 

_ FOR FUCK’S SAKE NOAH CLOSE YOUR EYES. _

Right as his brain caught up to his body and EVERYTHING HAPPENING RIGHT NOW and he went to close his eyes, the hand that Weston still had on his shoulder moved up, over his neck and his cheek, raising goosebumps where his fingers had trailed, before his hand settled in Noah’s hair and pulled,  _ hard. _

_ What the FUCK??? _

Noah was hysterically giggling inside his own head, but so far on the outside, he had managed to keep up with whatever the fuck was happening. 

WHAT the fuck was happening?

Borderline giddy, he felt himself smirking into the kiss, realizing that his eyes were  _ STILL _ open when he widened them as Weston’s other hand traced up over his waist and around his back. 

So this was definitely happening, because the hand that Weston  _ still had in his hair _ was pulling just hard enough to hurt in the  _ best _ way, and he figured that was a good enough indicator of reality. 

He definitely shouldn’t break this kiss off to pinch himself, even though he wanted to.

Weston had the taste of alcohol on his mouth, but in that really sexy fanfiction way that made Noah  _ really  _ want to break off the kiss just long enough to make a joke about their tongues battling for dominance, but he was thrilled that he hadn’t pulled some dumb shit like that not even a moment later when Weston’s hand that was on his back found its way to his hip, grabbing him just hard enough that he could easily push Noah, turning them around so that Noah’s back was pressed up against the wall. 

Weston really didn’t need to get leverage by grabbing his hip like that first, Noah would gladly do anything he told him to, but who was he to deny himself the simple pleasure of Weston  _ manhandling _ him?

Eyes finally closed, pressed against the wall with nowhere to go, Noah thought this couldn’t get much better until Weston got  _ closer,  _ somehow, his hips pushing against Noah’s, and the newest impulse in Noah’s head was to make a “nice boner, bro” joke but thankfully he was too light headed to be stupid. His brain kept wanting him to ruin this moment to make jokes that were increasingly stupid, but he couldn’t really blame his brain. 

It wasn’t exactly receiving all the blood it needed to work properly at the current moment. 

Weston tugged at his hair  _ again,  _ and before Noah could even process how that felt, Weston nipped at his lower lip. His response was reflexive; an embarrassing, desperate middleground between a moan and a whine, but it seemed to just spur Weston on, because his hand readjusted in his hair, tugging with enough force to tilt Noah’s head back. To be fair, though, he hadn’t pulled  _ that _ hard, Noah was simply more than willing to just go with whatever Weston did. 

He had been dreaming of pretty much this exact scenario for years now, who was he to try and fight back when Weston clearly knew how much of a bottom he was anyway? 

Head tipped back, his eyes shot open again as he felt Weston place a slightly tentative kiss to the dip in his collarbone. Weston continued kissing his way up Noah’s open throat, one of Noah’s hands coming up to gently tangle itself in Weston’s own hair, his thumb lightly brushing over Weston’s cheekbone, wanting to take every possible opportunity to ground himself in reality without scaring Weston off. 

The hand that Weston had on his back came to rest on the side of his neck, Weston’s thumb mimicking the movement of Noah’s, grazing the angle of his jaw. 

Tilting his head, Weston placed a kiss on the other side of Noah’s neck, between his Adam's apple and his own hand, before suddenly jumping back like he had been shocked. 

Noah quickly looked down at him, trying to blink some of the lust out of his eyes and open his mouth to speak, but before he could even get his embarrassingly rapid breathing under control, Weston was leaving. 

Sure, even the way he left the room was endearing, but Noah would save his laughter at whatever the fuck it was Weston had done while trying to leave his room for later. For now, his only question was  _ what did I do wrong? _

Against his better judgement, after a moment spent with his hand to his lips in complete bewilderment, he moved towards the hall to try and see if he could catch Weston before he went back into his room, but the slamming door down the hall answered his question, as did the almost obnoxiously loud Katy Perry track that followed almost immediately.

Okay, so Noah had  _ really _ fucked up. Weston only listened to Katy Perry when things were really really good, or  _ really really bad. _

He turned away from Weston’s side of the hallway to slam his  _ own _ door and do some of his  _ own _ wallowing, but before he could, he saw Quentin standing half in his own doorway looking frightened and slightly guilty. 

Before Noah could say anything, Quentin just gave him a confident thumbs up before going into his own bedroom, which was when Noah realized that whole embarrassing display had just happened with his bedroom door  _ wide  _ open. 

Well, fuck. This wasn’t exactly the plan. 

He always thought his first makeout with Weston would be… well, that one had been pretty good. And hot. He actually didn’t have any complaints about the actual making out itself, the problem came with the running away in the middle of it.   
Maybe this was just a really  _ realistic  _ dream. A lucid dream, or whatever. Not like it would be anywhere near the first time he dreamt about something like this. He was gonna go to sleep, and pray to whatever was listening that he woke up the next morning to find out that it hadn’t actually happened, and he hadn’t just let Weston throw away their years of friendship because he was drunk and horny. 

Noah tossed himself face down on his bed, and immediately groaned. 

Speaking of making terrible decisions when horny, this whole thing had left him terribly- for lack of a better phrase that wouldn’t make Logan so furious she died just to haunt him- rock hard in his jorts. 

As convinced as Noah was that this was either a dream or some weird elaborate prank, he had the decency to close his bedroom door before going any further down this road. He snuffed out his incense and turned the lights off, climbing back onto his bed in the blissful darkness. 

He definitely shouldn’t be getting off right now. Like, he was definitely  _ going  _ to, but he  _ really  _ shouldn’t. He had just gotten his feelings hurt. 

But he had also just had a  _ really good makeout with Weston. _

Yup, that one won. 

He tried really hard to think about anything besides what had just happened. He cycled through all of his ol’ reliables (‘90s Brad Pitt, ‘90s Tom Cruise, ‘90s Christian Slater- was his current masturbation material just the cast of Interview with the Vampire?) but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get what had just happened out of his head. 

He knew he should probably feel bad for still being turned on after how it had ended, but he figured anyone who had a problem with it should try getting their hair pulled by someone THAT attractive and then get back to him. It was a game changer. 

Noah did not sleep well. He woke up the next morning at an awkward angle, still on top of the blankets. He changed out of his pajamas and into something relatively tame for him, and snuck out of his bedroom in hopes that he’d find the living room empty and he could just steal some food and go back to hiding. 

No such luck. Everyone was in the living room and kitchen. 

Everyone including Weston. 

He tried to make eye contact, but Weston immediately furrowed his eyebrows, face burning, and locked his gaze on the plate of scrambled eggs in front of him so poorly made it could only be the work of-

Mark cut his train of thought off with a wolf whistle from the kitchen that startled him, because no matter how long he had known the man, the volume he stored within him never failed to horrify him. 

He looked up at Mark to see what had caught his attention, and immediately felt sick when he noticed that  _ everyone’s _ eyes were on him. 

Well,  _ almost _ everyone’s. And not quite on him, but more specifically on his neck. 

Why would they all be staring at his…. oh no. No, no way. No-

“Nice HICKEY, NOAH!” Mark shouted, and if everyone wasn’t staring at him before, they certainly were now. 

_ Oh, fuck. Fucking… fuck me.  _

There were some whoops and hollers, nothing that wasn’t the norm when someone showed up to breakfast with evidence of less than pure activities having transpired the night before, but Noah was busy shooting daggers at Quentin as he raised a hand to Weston in an attempt to high five him. Thankfully, Quentin dropped it, though Noah wasn’t convinced he understood  _ why.  _

They would talk about it later. 

Breakfast was  _ super _ awkward, of course. Noah sat a few places down from where he usually did, because something told him that Weston would probably not be making eye contact with him during the meal anyway. Mark graciously took his usual seat, but even he wasn’t getting much of a response from Weston. 

Noah really wanted to be sympathetic and try to look at things from Weston’s perspective. He really did. At the same time, though, he couldn’t help but feel like this was somehow his fault. 

He had been flirting with Weston for literally half a decade, and he had just broken up with his girlfriend, and he was confused. 

Noah really just... felt like  _ shit _ . 

How he felt right in that moment, of course, was nothing compared to how awful he would feel just a week or so later, when McCarthy had the genius idea to take a trip to  _ Vegas. _

Logan’s birthday wasn’t something she wanted a lot of attention for, but you don’t really get to “not celebrate birthdays” when you’re friends with McCarthy. She was notorious for going over the top, and even though she was no longer living on daddy’s paycheck, she somehow always had the funds to do so. 

She was also smart enough to wait until just a few days before their flight out to spring the plan on everyone so they wouldn’t have enough time to come up with an excuse that she found satisfactory. She had even called off of work for everyone already. 

The whole thing was almost ridiculously nefarious. It was Tuesday, and they only had until Thursday to pack for their flight early Friday morning. She had them booked to be home Sunday, but even with the trip being so short, Noah really wasn’t looking forward to it. In fact, he would say that he was actively dreading it. 

Spending a weekend in the city he was from while mostly sober was a nightmare, let alone spending time there with Weston. 

It wasn’t like he was completely straight edge, he still enjoyed a drink every so often and was definitely not one to say no to some good kush, but to Noah, the whole point of going to Vegas was getting shitfaced with your friends and doing things you’d hate yourself for later. Now he would just have to sit back and watch while his friends got shitfaced and did things, and he would remember all of it.

Maybe Weston would get drunk enough to kiss him again. 

They got to the airport around 3 in the morning, which meant that Noah hadn’t slept yet. Maybe that could be his excuse tonight, that he wanted to go to bed early. He could dip back to the hotel room and curse himself for ever moving into this stupid apartment building and dream about a world where he was not so goddamn  _ confused. _

But first, he had to survive the plane ride. And as fate would have it, Noah’s seat was right next to Weston’s.

He had overheard McCarthy talking about seating arrangements. Well, not really overheard, more eavesdropped- he had his earbuds in so no one would talk to him, but there was no music playing through them. He didn’t mind hearing what was happening around him, he just didn’t want to be interacted with. 

Weston had looked nervous when she said that. Good. Maybe he was finally feeling bad for fucking Noah over like he had. Noah hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since  _ the incident _ , as he had taken to calling it, partially because he waited up every night just in case Weston came back.

He had no idea what he would do if that actually happened, though. Would Weston kiss him again? Would Noah punch him in the face before he got the chance? Did he even want Weston to kiss him again?

His answers to those questions changed constantly. He knew that he was probably being super dramatic over something that wasn’t actually a big deal, but he also didn’t want to belittle his own feelings. 

He literally just needed  _ space, _ and sitting next to Weston in all his glory in a fucking airplane seat was definitely not that. 

On top of that, they were flying out of some nearby small town airport because McCarthy had gotten a better deal on tickets, which meant that the plane they were taking out only had two rows with two seats each. 

So not only would he be sitting next to Weston, it would be  _ just  _ him and Weston, for at least two hours, smashed up against each other with no way to pretend they weren’t.

Thanks again to the total lack of communication between the two of them, this was going to be a nightmare. 

Noah kept his earbuds in while he boarded the plane, hoping that he could just pretend to be sleeping and avoid as much awkwardness as possible. Maybe he would be able to really fall asleep and he could be blissfully unaware of the two hours of close contact all together. 

By some grand stroke of luck, when Weston boarded the plane, he decided to sit in the seat across the aisle, one row behind Noah, next to Mark. What would usually offend Noah came as a complete relief to him, and he offered a smile to Quinten as he slid into the seat next to him. Logan was in the seat behind them with Noelle, and Quinten was immediately talking to all five of them, Weston and Mark included, about a game of some sport that he liked at about a million miles a minute. 

McCarthy was in the seat behind Weston and Mark, and she was somehow already unconscious, mouth hanging open with her cheek squished up against the airplane window. 

Noah found it charming that she was such an ugly sleeper. He was envious of her for being able to sleep so quickly, but at the same time he knew that her sleep schedule was probably worse than his was when he was actively doing heroin, so he looked away from her and tried his best to immerse himself in whatever it was Quentin was still rambling about. 

It felt homophobic to have to listen to something about sports so early in the morning, but pretending to be interested in this conversation was the easiest way to ignore the two pairs of eyes fixed on him. 

Logan’s gaze was understandable, she had about as much desire to listen to her boyfriend talk about sports as he did, and on top of that he knew that she had been concerned about him lately. Being his best friend, he supposed he owed her a good catch-up chat sometime in the near future, but this plane was definitely not the place for that.

The other pair of eyes was the one he was choosing to ignore. 

Quentin kept chattering, content, and Noah leaned his head back against his seat to hopefully try and sleep. Maybe he could astral project and hang out with McCarthy. 

Before he could even put both his earbuds in to  _ actually _ play some music though, he heard Mark say something to Quentin, which wouldn’t have been enough to catch his attention if he hadn’t heard Weston’s soft voice interject with “it’s not that big of a deal, no one cares except you dude.” 

What exactly did Mark care about?

Putting his other earbud in so he could feign ignorance of the whole situation, he opened his eyes, listening as Logan got involved in the argument between Weston and Mark, and to some extent, Quentin. 

For some reason, Mark was being kind of a bitch about their “assigned seating”. 

Mark had been a rule following loser when he had first met him, but Noah thought that he was over that by now. Apparently not, because while Quentin didn’t mind switching seats with Weston, no questions asked, his ticket had him in the seat next to Mark. 

Weston, ever the anarchist, pulled his ticket out of his jean pocket  _ (who the fuck wore jeans on a plane? Sociopathic behavior)  _ before snatching Quentin’s, switching them so the ticket they each held matched the seats they were currently in. 

Quentin thought this was hilarious, for some reason, but Mark wasn’t impressed. He pointed out that the tickets still bore their respective names, which made Weston punch him in the arm, hard, but Mark wasn’t giving in.

Eventually, after more argument and name calling, Quentin just stood up. He “hated seeing his boys fight”, and he decided to switch with Weston to try and end the conflict.   
Ah, shit. Weston was still going to be sitting by him. Fuck, damn, and other such expletives.    
Noah quickly turned to look out the window. His face felt like it was on fire. 

He made himself as small as he could in his seat, legs literally as close to the wall as physically possible, and ignored the almost comforting warmth of Weston settling into the seat next to him. 

God, even  _ now  _ he felt better with Weston sitting next to him. He felt nauseous and bad about himself, sure, but still reassured against his better judgement. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep during the flight with Weston so close, but he closed his eyes anyway. 

Awkward silence was better than awkward conversation, he supposed. 

What Noah  _ really  _ wanted was for there to be no awkwardness whatsoever, for things between them to be okay. Maybe even more than okay. Ideally, Weston would reach over and hold Noah’s hand, or put his hand on his thigh, or do really anything to establish a physical connection between the two of them. If they were holding hands, Weston’s thumb would rub soothing lines over his knuckles. Maybe he would even put his head on Noah’s shoulder. 

But that wasn’t what was going to happen here, because they were both trying as hard as they could not to touch each other. No two people that avoided each other like making contact would send them an electric shock or something would ever hold hands on an airplane. 

Noah cracked his eyes open once he knew Weston was settled in, and he continued staring out the window until the plane started rolling down the tarmac. 

It was when they were taking off that Logan leaned forward to ask him and Weston if they wanted a piece of gum, to which Noah immediately answered, like an idiot. Now not only did Weston know he was pretending to be asleep, he knew that he was intentionally ignoring him by pretending to be listening to music, too. 

Super awesome, how Noah had found literally the only possible way to make this situation any more awkward than it already was. What was his  _ issue? _

He didn’t know if Weston had noticed his little continuity error or not, because he grabbed the gum from Logan and immediately looked away again. 

God. Maybe he should  _ actually _ play some music and try to drown this whole thing out. 

He hit shuffle on  _ Folklore,  _ because  _ obviously,  _ but he was genuinely asleep before the music even really hit. 

Noah woke up, startled to Weston shaking his shoulder, and just in that moment immediately after he woke up, he forgot about everything. 

He stretched lazily, as much as his lanky body would allow him to in the cramped airplane seat. While his hands were above his head, palms flat against the overhead carrier, he remembered. He stiffened up mid stretch, looking at Weston with wide eyes for a moment before he quickly averted his eyes, shoving his phone and earbuds into the tote bag he had kicked under his seat. People behind them were getting up to get off the plane, so Noah stood up at the same time as Logan, but he still had to wait for Weston to get his stuff out of the storage space. 

They couldn’t have been standing there for more than 30 seconds or so, but it was an incredibly uncomfortable 30 seconds. Standing up somehow made them that much closer to each other, and there was no way for Noah to pretend like he couldn’t feel the tension. 

Finally, Weston made his way into the aisle, and Noah was glad he was walking behind him. 

Well, for multiple reasons. 

But mostly because he didn’t have to avoid eye contact and be weird, he could just stare at Weston’s ass. 

Nope, he had managed to combine them into one reason. 

They got off the plane, and the journey to the hotel was extremely uneventful. Noah was a lot more tired than he expected to be, so he spent most of the Uber ride over watching out the window while Quentin made small talk with the driver. 

God, he hated Vegas.

Their hotel was nice. McCarthy had gotten them a suite, and there was enough room for everyone to sleep comfortably for once. 

The private bedroom had a king sized bed, there was another room with two queens, and the couch in the main room pulled out to be a full size mattress. 

He tried not to think about the fact that Weston, McCarthy, and himself were the only people on this trip without a significant other and how that would affect the sleeping arrangement. 

This  _ wasn’t _ a “there’s only one bed” fanfiction. 

Although, if McCarthy took the king (which she would), and Logan and Quentin took one of the beds, and Mark and Noelle took another one, that  _ literally _ left them with only one bed.

It was lunchtime. Noah decided not to worry about that until later. Maybe he would just crawl into bed between Logan and Quentin. 

The day was actually kinda tame, because everyone was super exhausted. They went to their hotel’s buffet for lunch, and wandered around doing some shopping before the  Cirque du Soleil show McCarthy had bought tickets for. All things considered, it was pretty fun, although Noah wished they were literally anywhere else. It felt like his 14th birthday all over again.

They had a few drinks with dinner, but ultimately the general consensus was that everyone wanted to go to bed early, sleep in, and get wasted on Saturday. 

If McCarthy was disappointed that one of her precious days of debauchery was coming to an end early, she didn’t show it. 

They were back at the hotel by midnight. The bed situation was exactly what he had predicted. 

Besides a few comments back and forth here and there, he and Weston still hadn’t spoken all day. 

Logan, Quentin, Mark, and Noelle all made their way to the second bedroom, but McCarthy seemed to have a moment of either clarity or clairvoyance, whatever you want to call it, she turned around and quickly asked if he and Weston were okay with sharing a bed before she closed her door, joking that if Noah wanted, he could come cuddle with her.

Noah actually  _ really  _ wanted that, but before he could even think about opening his mouth to answer, Weston blurted out “Nope, we’re good out here, thanks.”

_ Were they?! _

He changed into his pajamas in the bathroom, under the guise of taking a quick shower. That shower actually ended up being a lot longer than Noah had planned, because damn was the water pressure in this hotel  _ exquisite. _

When he came out, Weston was already in his pajama pants, shirtless, reading some book. 

With his reading glasses on. God, Weston looked so hot in his glasses.

He had made the bed with what little pillows and blankets he had found in the hotel closet, but Noah would be lying if he said it didn’t look extremely comfortable. He slipped in next to Weston, trying his best not to touch him, to no avail. 

Thankfully, Noah was truly ready for bed. He could tell that not even the spike in adrenaline caused from being this close to Weston would be enough to keep him awake much longer. He had even taken his anxiety medication, like some sort of functional adult. 

After a moment of surprisingly comfortable silence, Noah turned to lay on his right side, facing away from Weston, who asked Noah if he minded if he kept the lamp on to read. Of course he told him he didn’t, because he was  _ now _ thinking about how much of an old man Weston really was and how endearing it could be, and he bid Weston goodnight before closing his eyes.

Noah’s breathing slowed, and he could feel that he was almost asleep when his pulse jumped thanks to the hesitant hand that was smoothing down his still-damp curls. He fought to keep his eyes closed and his breathing even, straining his ears to hear the barely there whisper of “‘night, Noah” from Weston. 

He expected him to turn the lamp off and go to sleep after that, but he didn’t. Instead, Weston kept stroking through his hair, one of his fingers brushing over Noah’s cheekbone every so often. It felt natural, almost absentminded, and eventually Noah drifted off like that, extremely content. 

The next morning, Noah almost wanted to brush the entirety of last night off as a part of his dream, but he knew that it wasn’t. He was smart enough to at least pretend like he hadn’t been conscious for it, though. Maybe if he had grown some balls by tonight he would return the gesture. 

Weston could meet his eyes today, which was a nice change. He really hoped that they were on the track back towards normalcy, even if normalcy was this weird two way street of flirting and intimacy that they never seemed to be able to run into each other on. 

Of course, though, because this was Noah’s life, things would all go to shit later that night. 

After everyone had woken up and gotten ready for the day, they didn’t end up finishing lunch/really what turned into dinner until almost 5, which everyone agreed was a fairly reasonable time to start being irresponsible. Logan and Noah didn’t want to overdo it, so they had just planned to go do some holiday shopping, and since Quentin was the sweetest man alive he was coming with them. 

Quentin claimed it was because he didn’t like beer, and Noah genuinely didn’t know if he knew that they served drinks other than beer at bars and casinos, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. 

Noelle wanted to go see a Magic Mike show, and Mark wanted to go with her, so Mark told McCarthy and Weston that he would just text and meet up with them after the show. 

With everyone satisfied with their plan for the night, they split off. 

Logan spent literal hours inside the M&M store on the strip, which was both horrible and hilarious, but they ended up taking an Uber out to Henderson, where he and Logan had actually grown up, before deciding to get a late dinner and a couple drinks at the Cheesecake Factory. 

Noah figured that if Christian heaven existed, it would be a Cheesecake Factory. He got avocado egg rolls and prematurely decided then and there that this trip was a success. 

They stayed there a while longer than they probably needed to, but the three of them were having so much fun that none of them seemed to mind. 

They were on their way back to the hotel around 11:30 when Logan’s phone rang with a call from McCarthy. He could hear, even without the phone on speaker, that she was trashed, but he couldn’t make out any of the specific words she was saying until Logan told the driver to pull over at the gas station they were coming up to. 

He figured Logan knew better than to just stop at a random gas station after dark in Nevada, so this had to be a genuine emergency. 

She got out of the car, pacing in front of the store while still on the phone, and Quentin immediately filled the silence by filling Noah in on every single M&M themed item he had bought Logan for her birthday.

Logan hung up her phone, looking to the sky in pure exasperation, before she ran into the corner store. 

The store wasn’t big, so she quickly found what she was looking for, but being who she was, she also made her way to the back and filled four cups with various ICEE flavours before she came out. 

She gave one of the drinks to their grateful driver before passing the other two to Quentin and Noah, and pulled the mystery items out of the plastic bag: two ring pops. 

What the fuck?  _ Why? _   
Noah didn’t even have a chance to ask her why she had to make an  _ emergency stop _ for  _ ring pops and slushies _ because she was immediately ranting to herself before saying to their driver in an extremely strained voice, “Can you drop us off at the Fremont Wedding Chapel? My stupid fucking friends need to be stopped immediately.” 

Immediately, Noah understood. 

Mark and Noelle had gotten trashed with McCarthy and Weston and decided to tie the knot. They were a great couple, but they hadn’t been together  _ that _ long, and he knew they would never forgive themselves for having anything less than a fairytale perfect wedding. 

He would be more than happy to object to this ridiculous union. 

They made it there faster than Noah would’ve expected, and all three of them tipped their driver generously. 

They made their way up to the door, but before Noah could actually bust in the chapel, Logan grabbed him by the arm.

She tugged at the end of her shirt, a nervous tic she hadn’t been able to get rid of since they were kids, and he suddenly realized there was another potential for what they were about to face in there. 

Before she could say anything, though, Quentin had flung the door open, and confirmed Noah’s fears. 

McCarthy and Weston were standing at the altar, hands clasped, with Noelle and Mark standing by their respective sides. 

Of course, this was the first thing he saw, but the second was how  _ godawful  _ this room was. It was painted a garish shade of pink, and the decor was downright tacky. The worst part was definitely the gigantic heart with wings mural at the front of the room, embossed with the word “LOVE” on a banner. 

Well, that wasn’t the  _ worst  _ part of what was happening in this room. But it was certainly up there. 

Logan stormed up the aisle, furious, throwing the ring pops at McCarthy’s chest. She was immediately chewing her out for making another terrible, irresponsible decision, and after Noah took in the confused and probably underpaid officiant in a Hawaiian shirt, he looked at Weston. 

He didn’t think he had ever seen him  _ that _ drunk. There was absolutely  _ nothing _ behind his eyes, and the smile that kept creeping onto his face seemed almost mechanical, because it would slip right off his face any time he looked especially glazed for a moment. 

Mark was half propping him up, and McCarthy was barefoot, only wearing the white slip dress she had on as a base layer when they left this morning. Her black button up overshirt was now on Weston in what he supposed was a makeshift tuxedo jacket. 

_ This was a fucking trainwreck. _

He settled into the last row of pews. Suddenly, those avocado egg rolls weren’t sitting great with him. Quentin slid into the seat next to him, equally as confused but nowhere near as nauseous as Noah. 

McCarthy and Logan’s argument was mostly hushed, but not hushed enough. He heard her smugly tell Logan that she couldn’t stop anything because they were already legally married, they just wanted rings. 

He let his head drop onto Quentin’s shoulder, who patted it clumsily yet reassuringly. Quentin was a great dude. He should spend more time with him. 

What was he doing? Oh, yeah. 

He looked back up at the front of the room, heart skipping a beat when he noticed Weston looking directly at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

Good. He hoped he was confused. He hoped he was even  _ half _ as confused as Noah was right now. It felt awful.

Logan’s tiny fists were balled up in rage, but she relaxed, seemingly resigned, after a moment and asked McCarthy one final question, before she came to the back of the room where he and Quentin still sat. 

The venom in her voice was barely contained when she said “They’re going to get their own uber. Let’s go.” 

Noah couldn’t stand up fast enough. He was so beyond eager to get out of there.

They made the trip back to the hotel in abject silence. They all went upstairs to their room, but Logan paced the hotel floor, and he knew none of them would be sleeping until the other four got back. 

Around 45 minutes later, he heard hysterical laughter coming from the elevator, and he knew exactly who it was. He had missed hearing that laughter, and the twist in his gut was slightly eased by the knowledge that Weston was having fun.

The other two pairs stumbled into the room, their laughter immediately halted, the atmosphere inside the room incredibly sober. 

Logan stood up off the edge of Noah and Weston’s bed where she had been sitting and tapping her foot for the last 20 minutes, going to steer McCarthy into the bathroom to take her makeup off. 

Even when they were irreparably furious at one another, they always took care of each other. 

Mark and Noelle began giggling again, teetering into the secondary bedroom, and Quentin quickly followed to tuck them in. Weston looked around the room like he had never seen it before, but Noah knew that he was just trying to avoid having any sort of conversation.

Noah finally broke the silence, attempting humor with a simple “So, Mr. Scarlett, huh?” He was proud that his voice hadn’t wavered like he feared it would, but Weston’s laugh was weak, and the mumbled “I guess.” that followed didn’t instill much confidence either. 

McCarthy came out with Logan’s assistance just a short awkward moment later, but before she could be steered into her own extravagant bed, she grabbed Weston’s wrist and dragged him along with her, demanding that she get to sleep with her husband. 

That was enough for Noah for one night, so he made his way into the bathroom himself, regarding the many makeup covered kleenex on the counter with little interest. He decided to take a bubble bath. 

A minute later, he heard a soft knock on the door that was easily identifiable as Logan’s. 

He eased her fears as much as he could through the bathroom door, promising her that he was fine, and yes, he would come get her if he needed anything.

Once again, he was proud of himself for keeping the composure in his voice despite the bitter tears that were currently making their way down his face. 

God, he  _ knew _ he was being dramatic, but he couldn’t  _ help it.  _ He felt so fucking stupid. He knew that they hadn’t married each other because they were in  _ love _ or anything, but he also knew that they had something he would never get to have with Weston and he decided that he had the right to cry about it while he was in this tub, just so long as he got his shit together as soon as he got out to go to bed.

He kept that promise to himself, sort of. 

He wasn’t crying by the time he dried off and made his way to his makeshift bed, but he did polish off most of the mini bar before letting his head hit the pillow. He figured McCarthy wouldn’t mind picking up the tab.

The next morning, the sun was not being kind to his pounding headache. 

He remembered his stupid, impulsive grief drinking session from last night and scrambled to hide the evidence still all over the floor, but it seemed no one was any the wiser, because he could hear 6 voices coming from McCarthy’s suite. 

Throwing the rest of the mini bottles away, he made his way into the doorway, where he saw McCarthy and Weston sitting on the bed, everyone surrounding them with various levels of concern and disappointment. 

Mark was perched on the corner of the bed, head in his hands, borderline inconsolable. 

Noelle looked decent, although half of her hair was completely flat from where Noah guessed she had passed out cold, and she stood at the side of the bed by Mark, rubbing his shoulders. 

Quentin and Logan were standing directly in front of Weston and McCarthy, the former looking like extremely disappointed parents. 

Quentin was using his much shorter girlfriend more or less as an armrest, but Logan had her arms folded, and she was absolutely letting the newlyweds have it. 

McCarthy was a lot more concerned about the chunks of hard candy that had broken off from her ring and embedded herself in her hair, but Weston was only looking at Noah.

He had already taken his gas station candy ring off, and god knows where it had ended up. He was sitting up on his elbows, eyes squinted in a way obviously indicative of the brutal hangover he had to be sporting, but Noah couldn’t help himself. 

He was more focused on the exposed expanse of Weston’s chest and stomach from where he had allowed his unbuttoned dress shirt to fall open.

The way he was sitting, how he was dressed, and the confused hungover look on his face reminded Noah of another time Weston had ended up in a bed he wasn’t expecting to when drunk. This was definitely not what Noah should be thinking of right now, but he couldn’t help it.

A few years ago, when parties weren’t just more common at their house, but were practically mandatory every weekend, Noah had committed the cardinal sin of deciding to take it easy. 

He was taking a couple education courses at the community college, and he wanted to be responsible for once and turn his homework in on time. 

Of course he didn’t know that he would be dropping out just a few months from now, but regardless. 

He had already done his makeup with McCarthy when he decided to sit this one out, so he was just sitting in his room away from everyone, face fully beat, writing an essay.

He supposed this probably looked hilarious to an outsider, but there were no outsiders in this room. His housemates were courteous enough to centralize the party in the basement to disturb Noah as little as possible, which he greatly appreciated.

Well, there weren’t any outsiders in his room for a while. He had finished pretty much everything he could without a textbook that he had left in Logan’s room, and he figured he could just do that tomorrow. Who knew what was going down in Logan’s room right now?

He debated joining the fun downstairs, but given how late it was, he figured everyone would be too fucked up to be fun by now anyway. 

He had just climbed into his bed to scroll through his twitter timeline for a while before going to bed when there was a tentative knock on his door. 

Super weird, because if it was a random party guest, his room was the furthest down the hall on the floor furthest from the party, but he also had no idea why any of his housemates would be coming to bother him when to their knowledge, he was doing homework.

Nevertheless, he called for whoever it was to come in. He was pleasantly surprised to see Weston there. It looked like Logan had flat ironed his curls again, and someone had secured the braids that had to have been done by McCarthy with butterfly clips. He was wearing a pair of Mark’s weird printed pants with a white linen shirt untucked and mostly unbuttoned, his combat boots unlaced. He had a weird selection of necklaces on, and it looked as though he had one from everyone’s jewelry collection, even wearing one of Noah’s chokers that he had left in the bathroom. 

He looked really, really cute, but Noah also didn’t know why he was in his room right now. It was well past midnight.

Weston began explaining that they had played dress up with him, before backtracking and explaining that he and McCarthy and Logan had gone up to Weston’s room to get away from the crazy college kids that had crashed the party while Mark and Peter dealt with them. Up in his room, they had continued to share a bottle of whiskey and some weed, and that’s when Noah realized what was going on.

Weston  _ never  _ smoked, and if he had been smoking with McCarthy and Logan, he probably got his lightweight ass kicked.  _ Plus  _ he had already been drinking. And that’s when Weston asked if he could crash in Noah’s room to get away from the chaos.

Of course, Noah said yes without any hesitation. 

He had never been able to deny Weston anything. 

However, the only spaces to sleep in his room were his bed, of course, and his extremely comfortable plush rug that was covered in looted throw pillows and couch cushions that he had stolen from other people’s parties, for some fuckin’ reason. 

Weston beamed at his confirmation and settled onto the pillows, sliding his boots off. Noah figured that Weston figured that he had to sleep down there, but before Noah could even try to be a good host and offer to switch, Weston was tripping out of his boots to sprawl horizontally across Noah’s bed, and Noah’s legs. 

Noah felt a blush heat his face, but thankfully the makeup from earlier was still there to mostly hide it. He didn’t think Weston would have noticed either way, he was half asleep already. 

Noah shook his shoulder with a manicured hand, stirring Weston with the offer of getting comfortable in his bed. 

Weston stood up, and Noah quickly averted his eyes when he realized that Weston was taking his pants off to the best of his ability. 

He turned around to fling his pants somewhere near his shoes, and that’s when Noah saw that Weston was wearing his “PROPERTY OF MARK” boxers that he had gotten in a matching set with the other man for Christmas courtesy of McCarthy. Stifling a laugh, he watched as Weston crawled back over top of his legs with all the grace of an earthworm just ripped from the mud, flopping down somewhere near the other pillow Noah kept in his bed. 

Weston was wedged between Noah and the wall, and Noah took a moment to appreciate how pretty Weston looked; with his lips slightly parted, pieces of hair that had fallen out of his braids fanned out across the pillows, and his ridiculously attractive hands folded over his chest. 

How fun, they had even painted Weston’s nails pink and gold.

Noah started making his way out of bed slowly, trying not to disturb the seemingly already sleeping Weston. He really didn’t mind sleeping on the floor, the upholstered nest down there had been a resting place for him many times on his less than sober nights. 

However, he didn’t make it very far before Weston grabbed his forearm, pulling him back into bed with a mumbled, barely recognizable “stay”. 

Noah’s heart was doing cartwheels, and he obviously obliged, allowing Weston to pull Noah practically on top of his warm chest. 

Noah’s other arm came hesitantly over Weston to place itself across his waist, which he sighed at, snuggling impossibly closer with a small smile. 

Noah’s mind was running a million miles a minute, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anytime soon. Weston’s nose and cheek buried in his hair, and, overcome, Noah placed a tentative kiss to the top of Weston’s chest, just below his collarbone. 

Weston let out a contented sigh, tilting his head in a way that seemed like an invitation for another kiss. Noah really didn’t want to try to make a move on a drunk straight guy, so instead of kissing Weston’s neck like it seemed he wanted him to, he just planted another one on Weston’s cheek. 

That’s when he realized, in the low light provided by his lava lamp, that he had left a dark red lipstick stain on Weston’s cheek, which meant there was probably one on his chest too.

_ Good,  _ chimed in a possessive part of his brain he didn’t want to acknowledge at this time of night, but as much as Noah knew he absolutely couldn’t take advantage of his drunk crush asking him for more kisses, he also knew there was nothing weird about smooching your homie on the forehead. 

Noah was, of course, a firm believer in kissing the homies goodnight.

Fighting against Weston’s strong arms that were holding Noah close to his neck, he leaned up and planted one final kiss to Weston’s forehead, just above his right eyebrow.

Weston pulled him back down, seemingly satisfied, and adjusted Noah and himself so Noah was laying in his grip, Weston’s lips hovering just above the bridge of Noah’s nose, and if Weston could feel how hard his heart was pounding from where their bare chests were touching, he didn’t say anything about it. 

Weston fell asleep quickly, and Noah followed him far faster than he thought he would with his elevated blood pressure. 

The real icing on the cake, though, was the next morning.

Noah woke up with Weston still holding him, sort of. 

The arm Weston had put underneath him last night was still there, around his waist, but now Weston was awake, staring at the ceiling like maybe it had some answers for him. 

Noah watched him for a moment, watched the way the sharp angle of his adam's apple moved when he swallowed, and Noah realized he must be having recordbreakingly awful cottonmouth right now, so he pretended to just be waking up, stretching and yawning and making a whole production of it. 

Weston looked over, trying to feign nonchalance, and just then Noah realized that Weston had eyeliner on last night, that was now smudged in the most obnoxiously sexy way. 

Noah swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pretending again that he didn’t feel Weston’s gaze on his own shirtless body, and grabbed the glass of water he kept on his bedside table, wordlessly offering it to Weston while he rooted through his drawer for some aspirin. 

The lipstick marks he had left on Weston were slightly smudged, and the one on his chest had a smear that looked like Weston had wiped at it, probably trying to figure out what it was. 

Noah stifled a smirk, and he and Weston both tried to make morning small talk, pretending like they were both completely unaffected by the conditions of their sleep last night. Weston eventually got up, but he hovered at Noah’s door for a while, seeming like he wanted to ask something, before deciding against it and making his way down the hall to shower. 

Noah got up, still feeling smug, looking at his own reflection in the mirror by his closet. Some of his own makeup from last night was still there, but most of it had wiped off on either his own pillow or Weston’s shirt. 

Noah promised himself to keep this private, and try not to think too hard about how seeing Weston in his bed in the morning covered in his lipstick looking like that had made him feel. 

Of course, he hadn’t kept that promise to himself, and here he was who knows how long later, standing in the doorway to a Las Vegas hotel suite’s main bedroom, looking at Weston laid out on the bed like he had been in his own, but all he was really focused on was the, well,  _ scarlett _ red lipstick print on his cheek that matched the smear around McCarthy’s own mouth. 

More reminders that all the scarce memories that Noah held on to to feel like there was something special between the two of them weren’t actually anything at all.

He probably definitely should’ve taken his anxiety medication last night. 

It was already the late morning, and their flight was before dinner, so Noah decided to get out of the way and go pack. He literally only had one outfit to put away once he changed his clothes, but he took his sweet, sweet time doing so.    
They must’ve finished lecturing Weston and McCarthy, because Quentin and Logan came out of the bedroom, with Quentin going into the other room to pack everyone’s stuff while Logan got on the phone with the concierge to ask for a bottle of baby oil and a comb to be brought up. 

McCarthy may be older than Logan, but god knows where she’d be if Logan didn’t mother her in little ways like this. 

They didn’t bother trying to go out and find somewhere nice to have lunch before going to the airport, instead they elected to order mediocre room service and avoid each other. 

It felt like an appropriate end to the trip. 

The trip to the airport and the flight home were nothing notable. 

Once again, he and Weston were sitting uncomfortably close to one another, once again they did not speak, and once again Noah slept for the majority of the flight home. 

What he couldn’t figure out was why his shoulder was abnormally warm upon waking up, and how that fit in with how bleary eyed Weston looked. 

The next few days, or weeks, or whatever were normal for everyone in the house. Obviously and fortunately, Weston and McCarthy realized that they had no desire to be  _ married _ the second they had woken up that next morning in Vegas and had immediately filed for annulment with one of McCarthy’s law school friends as soon as they got home. 

Unfortunately, however, Weston had returned to how awkward he had been around Noah pre-trip, which led Noah to hang out in the girl’s living areas more often than the guy’s in an attempt to be in contact with him as infrequently as possible. 

It was one of the nights when he was downstairs on the couch with Noelle, watching the Bachelor with a sheet mask on and chardonnay in his cup (probably the second closest to Christian heaven, after only Cheesecake Factory), when McCarthy came in, seemingly in one of her tizzies, and just bluntly asked Noah “Do you want to get out of here with me?” 

He hesitantly accepted, but told her she would have to wait until he was done with his mask. She was fine with that, and went to her room to get ready. 

He wrapped up with Noelle, who was going to  _ sleep _ at this hour like a  _ reasonable person, _ hugging her goodnight at her door before knocking on McCarthy’s. 

She flung it open in greeting, dressed less extravagantly than usual while still being certainly overdressed for whatever dive bar she could possibly be taking them to, before she wrapped an arm around his shoulder and ushered him out the front door into the uncomfortably cold Seattle night. 

McCarthy always acted so harried. If Noah had to guess based on her actions alone, he would think she was trying to run from the devil himself. Knowing her, it wouldn’t be terribly surprising.

She got to talking about some hotshot music producer she had a thing for who hadn’t been calling her back recently, and how much that bothered her, especially because her “other favorite person to talk to outside the house”, this college girl in her early 20s who was basically just a more unlikable, younger McCarthy hadn’t been returning her texts either. 

He didn’t know why she acted like she needed the validation of this girl,  _ Ruby,  _ who was barely old enough to drink, but he supposed it was more maternal instinct than anything. He nodded along with her while they walked, arm in arm. 

Thankfully they didn’t go far, electing to drink at the bar McCarthy worked at, which she swore was her favorite “for reasons other than the employee discount”. 

They settled themselves at a table towards the back of the place, with tall bar seats that anyone shorter than her would probably have trouble maneuvering in and out of even sober, but she quickly wrapped up her rant and turned her full laser focus on him. 

“So. You and Weston. What’s the  _ DEAL,  _ babe. Spill.” She spoke, and he suddenly regretted coming out with her tonight. 

He spoke honestly, telling her that he felt like there wasn’t anything  _ to _ spill, but she wasn’t buying it. She cut off his hesitant explanation with a simple pointed statement, simply saying “Okay, no,  _ everyone _ knows you two dipshits are in love with each other, what I’m really asking is when you’re going to get to it. You know, even Heather knew it was always you.”

He recoiled at the sound of Weston’s ex-girlfriend’s name, slightly ashamed to admit that he had pretty much forgotten that she had ever existed in the first place. 

His mind was racing with about a million questions, ranging from  _ what do you mean  _ everyone _ knows  _ to  _ what do you mean when are we going to get to it  _ to even just  _ WHAT DO YOU MEAN IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER, _ but he settled for a cautious “When did Heather say that to you?”

She rolled her eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That night that he dumped her because you came back. She was pretty torn up about it.” 

Noah was NOT a fan of the smirk she said that last part with, because, wait, “Didn’t you say she fell right asleep when you brought her in? When did you talk about all this?”

He should’ve predicted the answer, but his shock must’ve been obvious when she said “Right after we had sex, dude.” because she immediately followed it with “Did you know she  _ also _ has her nipples pierced? We have so much in common.” He knew she had mostly said it to get a rise out of him, but,  _ ew,  _ it worked. 

“McCarthy, literally how and why and under WHAT circumstances would I EVER know that? You told me you didn’t fuck her!” 

She shrugged, smirking as she threw back  _ another _ shot, taking in Noah’s dejected face as he poked at the ice in the limey-vodka drink she had ordered for him. 

Noah finally worked up the courage to try and get some information from her, because if she was going to make him uncomfortable with her oversharing, he should do the same.

He took a slow sip of his drink, carefully asking “McCarthy, we’re…  _ friends,  _ right?” 

She rolled her eyes and nodded, asking him why he even felt the need to ask. He took a deep breath, asking her in a voice slightly quieter that she thankfully still heard, “And you’re, you’re friends with Weston. You would, y’know,  _ tell  _ me if he like-  _ liked _ me, right?” 

A slow smile spread across her face, reminiscent of some sort of predatory big cat, and he knew that there was no turning back from that question, but he didn’t really think he  _ wanted  _ to, honestly. It had been so long that at this point, he kind of just wanted an answer, regardless of what that answer was.

Instead of being straight with him though,  _ of course _ , McCarthy just answered with a question of her own, posed as a statement. “ _ You  _ like  _ WESTON. _ ” 

He supposed it really  _ was _ a statement, though. This wasn’t really something he could argue about anymore. 

He figured he had to look pretty miserable, because McCarthy came over to the seat next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as reassuring as a woman (?) who might be an android could be. 

He sighed, leaning into her touch. “Of course I would fall for the  _ straight  _ guy. He gets drunk and makes out with me  _ once _ and I convince myself-”

“Hold on, what the fuck? WHEN? WHAT!”

Realizing then that he had sunk himself into a brand new hole he really didn’t want to be in, he told her the story anyway. 

The  _ whole _ story, from the time he got back to now, and she listened carefully, completely focused on him like he was giving her the last equation she needed to solve an extremely complicated math problem.

Of course, he didn’t give her every single tiny detail, because there were SOME things he wanted to save for himself. 

She finally spoke, “Look, you didn’t hear this from me, because I didn’t even hear this from Weston, but I’ve known that guy all my life. That is  _ not _ a straight man. I also grew up with Mark, Noah. I can tell the difference. Straight guys don’t  _ make out _ with hot twinks like that, but even besides that, straight guys don’t take two hour showers when their said hot twink reappears in their life all…” She vaguely gestured at him, “Hot. Just give him some time. I don’t even think he really fully knows it yet.” 

He appreciated the compliment, and the vote of confidence, but again, there was no way for her to know all of this for sure. 

He tried to ask her another question about how she was so sure what Weston was feeling, but she was busy leaving what was definitely way more money than they owed on the table, so she simply answered “Come on, babe. I know everything. I’m the main character.” 

He laughed, and reciprocated this time when she wrapped her arm around him, but she just followed it up with “Also he wouldn’t shut up about your hair when we were drunk on our wedding night. Oh, and also, Weston just literally has no sense of subtlety. Fucking Capricorns, man.”

They had a great time on their walk home, and as they made their way up the stairs to continue their conversation in her room, he realized that he hadn’t felt better in a long time. 

Maybe McCarthy’s confidence was contagious. He really felt like maybe the ball was more in his court than he previously thought it was. 

They busted through the door, expecting everyone to be either in their own room or someone else’s, but what they weren’t expecting was to see Logan and a frazzled looking Weston standing in the opening to the hallway off the living room. 

Noah felt completely untouchable. 

He locked eyes with Weston, unabashedly drinking in how good he looked in his pajamas with his hair wild. 

He realized after a moment that he had probably been staring for too long, but he also couldn’t find it in him to care. 

Eventually, Logan broke the tension, simply asking “Did you guys have fun?” which caused him and McCarthy to get caught up in another fit of giggles. 

He nodded, but then quickly locked eyes with Weston again, who seemed desperate to look away, but didn’t. Interesting.

Eventually, McCarthy grabbed Logan and dragged her into her bedroom, immediately slamming the door and turned on her playlist that signalled to the whole house that she was gossipping and didn’t want to be heard or disturbed. Honestly, though, he didn’t care. Maybe they could compare notes. 

He was desperately curious to know what Logan and Weston had talked about, but knew there was absolutely no way for him to ask that question without being any more obvious than he already was. 

Weston made a face that Noah figured was supposed to be a smile, before making his way past Noah and up the stairs. Noah trailed behind him slightly, but before Weston could close his bedroom door for the night, Noah called his name.

Immediately he didn’t know why he had done that. He didn’t actually have anything to say to him. 

Weston looked up at him, eyes wide, and Noah suddenly remembered what had gone down the last time they had been in close proximity like this. Thankfully, Noah could control himself and was able to turn the thoughts of just grabbing Weston and kissing him away from the forefront of his mind, (this was a moment when Noah really wished his life was a TV show, because he would make incredibly sarcastic eye contact with the camera right now if it was,) but he couldn’t stop himself from repeating Weston’s name again in a way that even he knew was probably a little  _ much,  _ but before he even let Weston fully he react to that, he simply left him with a bright “Goodnight!” before making his way to his own room to think about everything that had gone down tonight, and really in the weeks leading up to tonight too. 

It had been about 3 more weeks of this weird, gay cold war when Weston dropped his nuke. 

They were all together watching a movie, but Noah honestly couldn’t tell you which one. 

They had been on a dreamworks movie kick lately, and it might’ve been Megamind, but who knows. 

He had spent half the movie watching Weston, and the other half pretending not to notice Weston watching him. 

The tension had gotten more and more palpable, to the point where every time they were in a room together it felt like a standoff. 

Regardless, as much fun as the flirting and the tension could be, he understood and respected the fact that it might not even be anything. Weston hadn’t come out or said anything that hinted towards anything but heterosexuality, and unfortunately this  _ was _ a “straight until proven otherwise” situation.

He had kind of zoned out during the credits while everyone was deciding whether or not they wanted to watch another movie, and the next thing he knew, Weston was standing in front of the TV, wringing his hands like he was about to confess to something.

_ Wait, was he about to confess to something? _

_ Wait,  _ WAIT _. _

Weston was looking at everyone but him, and as hard as he tried to listen, he missed the first sentence thanks to the wave of adrenaline that suddenly filled him. 

Before he could worry that he missed some  _ announcement _ or something, though, he heard the next part, which was all he needed to hear. 

“I, uh… I’m gay.”

The brief second of silence must’ve dropped like a bombshell, because Noah’s ears were ringing when everyone jumped up to hug him and offer their support, and he couldn’t do anything but stare with a dumb look on his face when Weston glanced at him. 

Everyone settled back down, hugging Weston, and Noah felt a little claustrophobic all the sudden. This moment was  _ not _ about him, however, so he just decided to quietly excuse himself and let Weston get all the attention he deserved right now. 

He went upstairs, closed the door to his room behind him, and tried to restrain his body from doing the gleeful dance it so desperately wanted to. Weston being gay and out meant  _ nothing,  _ it had absolutely nothing to do with him, and he should  _ not _ be thinking about himself right now. 

Just because he liked guys doesn’t mean he liked Noah. 

But he liked guys. And that meant there was a  _ possibility,  _ no matter how small, that  _ Weston could like him back the same way.  _ It was  _ possible,  _ the probability was no longer 0 _ ,  _ and Noah decided that fact alone was enough to warrant a quick  _ Sexyback _ dance party. 

Noah tried to return to normal as quickly as possible around Weston, because he didn’t want him to think that he was being weird about anything. And also, selfishly, he hoped that being as fun as possible would maybe make Weston take a newfound interest in him. 

Something that was new and unexpected was Weston occasionally breaking his reserved image to flirt back with Noah. It always caught him way off guard, and he was probably flustered way more often now than he had ever been before, but neither one of them seemed to mind at all.

Noah was sitting in his room one day, just enjoying some time to himself, when someone knocked at his door. 

His first thought was about how weird this was, not just because someone was being courteous enough to knock, but because his door was wide open. He looked up, and couldn’t contain his smile when he saw Weston standing there. Of course it was Weston. 

Weston smiled back at him, and Noah melted again. He kind of hated that all it took was a smile, but he couldn’t help it. Weston had a really nice smile. 

Noah sat there for a minute, watching Weston as he looked around his room like he’d never been in here before. He found it endearing, albeit confusing. Weston reached up to awkwardly rub at the back of his neck, and Noah disregarded subtlety as he watched the movement, tracing the line of his bicep with his eyes as he did so. 

The longer Weston just stood there, the weirder he thought it was that he was just  _ here, _ but he would also never be caught dead complaining about being alone in a room with Weston. 

Eventually, Weston’s soft voice broke the silence, with a very unexpected “Can I chat at you for a minute?” Noah immediately smirked at his word choice, but of course he nodded. Once again,  _ hello,  _ alone time with Weston.

_ Maybe he’s here to tell you he thinks you’re creepy and wants you to stop hitting on him,  _ his brain supplied, reminding Noah that it had once again been a couple days since he had taken his anxiety medication. 

Although, he had heard McCarthy and Logan muttering about some guy Weston was interested in from work… He had decided not to worry about that until he heard it from Weston himself, though. He spent too much of his brain power on irrational thought already. 

Weston cringed at his own question, but as soon as he got Noah’s affirmative, he closed the door behind him. Noah knew he probably made a  _ face _ at that, and at the thought of being alone in a room with Weston with the door closed in general, but he was able to feign neutrality by the time Weston turned back around, thankfully. 

Weston began pacing in front of his bed, and Noah watched patiently. Apparently, whatever he wanted to say must be pretty intense if he was willing to get halfway through wearing a hole in Noah’s carpet before he spoke.

When he did speak, though, he had a super odd request, which was having Noah move to sit on the side of his bed and face the door so he could sit on the other side of his bed and talk to Noah back to back. Noah laughed when they finally got the position correct to Weston’s liking, because it just felt so  _ weird  _ to be sitting facing away from him like this, but Noah definitely had no complaints about being this close to him regardless of the circumstance. 

Finally, Weston took a deep breath and started to speak.  “So, I don’t really know what to say here. Or, I guess I do, I just don’t know how to say it. I, um, I just wanted to tell you that, well. There’s a reason I’ve been so weird lately.” 

Noah waited, unsure if Weston wanted him to say anything, but he continued. 

“There’s this, uh, guy. He’s a really good friend of mine, and I think he’s maybe the coolest person I know. I’ve always wished I could be even half as open as him. You can usually tell what he’s thinking even if he doesn’t want you to know. But the thing is, Noah, I, um.” Weston took another deep breath, and their shoulders touched again. Noah felt like he  _ might _ scream. “I like this guy a lot. In a, uh, well, in a more-than-friends way. But I don’t know how to figure out if he likes me back, you know? Because I, um, I really, really,  _ really _ don’t want to fuck up what I already have with this guy. I already almost ruined everything once, actually, more than once, because I’m an  _ idiot _ , and for the first time since knowing him, I can't figure out what's going on with him, you know? I just- he's so special to me, and I'm not quite sure what the right thing to do here is.” 

Oh. Okay. Well.

This could mean one of two things.

Either this mystery guy from work  _ was  _ something he should worry about, or…

Or.

Maybe it was dangerous to hope, but he was hoping.

The thing was, though, that he was  _ TERRIFIED _ of being wrong. 

Noah sat there for a moment, letting the tension rise while he tried to think of something noncommittal to say. 

He wanted to encourage Weston to keep talking without being too obvious. Finally, he spoke, simply asking “Why don’t you go talk about this with  _ him,  _ then?”

Noah’s heart raced in the brief pause that followed, before Weston spoke again, somehow even softer than before: “That’s what I’m  _ doing,  _ Noah.” 

Fireworks went off in Noah’s chest. Literally all he wanted to do was turn around and kiss any of the doubt out of Weston’s stupid, perfect head, especially when Weston’s hand carefully overlapped his. 

This was all he had wanted for  _ so _ long. 

So why couldn’t he just let this happen? Why couldn’t he just enjoy it and be happy? 

Because immediately, the fireworks got put out by the doubt. Weston probably only liked him because he was the only single gay dude he knew, and Weston knew he was in love with him so there’s no way he’d refuse. He’d be easy enough to mess around with, it’s not like Noah had kept  _ his  _ feelings a secret. 

He let his hand interlace with Weston’s while he turned around to face him, and said absolutely  _ THE LAST THING _ he ever expected himself to say in this situation. 

“Weston, I think I need some time to myself to think about everything.”

Weston didn’t seem to hear him at first, his eyes were locked on their intertwined hands, but after a moment he stopped rubbing his thumb over Noah’s knuckles (one of the things Noah had been constantly dreaming about and now he was fucking it up thanks to his anxiety, go team!) and processed what had been said, nodding before standing up and making his way to the doorway. He smiled at Noah one last time before leaving.

Noah immediately felt deflated, sinking onto his own mattress. WHAT was his problem? This is what he had been dreaming of for YEARS, and now that he had it, he literally told it to go away.

Fuck. So. Next on the agenda, figure out a way to beg Weston for forgiveness. 

Even though this may have been one of the most important conversations he would ever have, he still found a way to procrastinate it. 

It had been almost two weeks, it was a Friday morning, and Noah felt like shit. 

They were having a party at their place tonight. It had actually been a little while since their last party, and he had heard this one wouldn’t be as crazy as they were all used to. 

He supposed the party would be a good place to try and explain himself to Weston, because if by that time he had decided he was sick of Noah’s anxious indecisive ass, he would be able to slip away unnoticed to nurse his wounds.

Noah really wanted to bounce his thoughts off someone, but no one was around and his next appointment with his therapist wasn’t until Monday. 

He knew Logan had to work, and McCarthy was off prepping for the party. 

Not that he  _ could _ talk to Weston about this anyway, but he was at work too. 

He didn’t know if Noelle was home, but he didn’t really want to dump this on her either. Mark wouldn’t be a terrible option either, he knew Weston just as well as McCarthy, but when he peeked into his room he found it empty, too. That only left one option.

Quentin was an unconventional choice, but not a bad one. He knocked on his door, but it was actually Mark who called him in. Quentin wasn’t even home, but Mark was playing Minecraft on his Playstation in there, because, as he said, “Quentin is my boy. And I like the light in here.” Noah didn’t really care either way, he just asked if Mark was cool with listening to him rant for a minute. 

As soon as Mark replied with a completely predictable “Of course”, Noah opened his mouth to start explaining and found that he just couldn’t stop. He had only planned on giving Mark the context necessary for his current predicament, but he ended up telling him  _ everything, _ starting all the way back in high school when he had met him. The introduction, and the breaking up with his high school boyfriend for him, and the flirting, and the overdose, and crying when he had to leave for rehab, and the weirdness when he came back, and  _ Heather, _ and the  _ KISS, _ and Vegas, and- well. Everything.

Mark listened with incredible patience as Noah explained every single thing in extreme detail. If Mark minded, he made no indication. He kept working on his house or castle or whatever it was while Noah talked, and Noah realized that by the time he had finished spilling his absolute guts to him, it was nearly time for them to go get ready for the party. 

Mark paused his game, and turned around to give Noah a hug.

Mark was a really good hugger. He reminded Noah of a golden retriever his grandma had when he was growing up. 

He let Mark hold him even longer when he realized that he was crying. Noah had absolutely no idea when that had started, but it was super embarrassing. 

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, thanking Mark for listening. 

He hadn’t  _ really  _ come here looking for advice, just a shoulder to cry on, and he had gotten that in the most literal way, so he didn’t really expect it when Mark didn’t fully let him out of his embrace just yet.

“Dude,” Mark began, and somehow Noah knew this was going to be an extremely profound  _ dude, _ “I have never seen my boy look at someone the way he looks at you. Here’s the thing, you’re just scared. I know you are and I know you know you are. But like…  _ don’t be. _ Weston is one of the best dudes I know, dude. And he would treat you  _ so  _ well that I’m kinda thinking about leaving my girlfriend right now. Just kidding, he wouldn’t treat  _ me  _ like that, he would treat  _ you  _ like that. But maybe if I asked him… I’m kidding! Kind of, but I’m also serious because Weston would be a great boyfriend and you have to get on that before I do. Sorry, what were we talking about? Oh.  _ Right _ . Are you really gonna deny yourself the possibility of an entire lifetime of being loved the way you actually deserve to be just because there’s a  _ possibility _ that it might not end well? My man, there’s a possibility the sun could explode before we even make it to the party tonight. We can’t live life on  _ what if _ , you know? Come on. Don’t be foolish. You’re acting  _ REAL  _ silly right now. Making me get all romantic and shit… Go get ready for the party.”

Noah let one more sob out, but he and Mark both knew that was the closest to a thank you that he could manage right now. 

Mark was 100% right. Noah never would’ve thought in a million years that their house’s Vice President himbo would be the one to tell him  _ exactly _ what he needed to hear in that moment, but he was so incredibly glad he had come to him. He hadn’t been too sappy, but he had been just the right amount of soft to give Noah his groove back. He  _ was _ gonna go get ready for that party now. 

He hugged Mark tight one more time before he left, scurrying down the stairs and into McCarthy’s room. Apparently his Weston soliloquy had lasted long enough for her to finish whatever errand she had been on, because she was in the middle of doing her own makeup when he busted the door down. 

She was startled for a half a second, then pissed, then confused when she took in how frazzled Noah was. He steadied himself after a second before simply telling her, “I need to look hot for this party. Me and Weston are getting together tonight.”

She let out an ecstatic squeal, immediately maneuvering him into her vanity chair and talking at a speed he could barely comprehend. 

He wasn’t listening to her, anyway. He was looking at himself in the mirror- all gangly, too-long hair and freckles and green eyes that looked extra green right now thanks to the crying, and he smiled his gap-toothed smile at himself. He was ready for this. This is  _ exactly _ what he had been waiting for. 

He let McCarthy do his makeup, just some eyeliner and mascara and a little bit of eyeshadow because she couldn’t help herself, but he decided he was going to pick out his outfit himself. McCarthy insisted on coming upstairs with him to supervise, which he supposed was fair due to his track record of dressing like Gonzo, but she had no complaints about his choice. He didn’t want to look like he tried too hard, but yes he did. His makeup looked fantastic, so he just put on ol’ reliable- his Oh!Verdose t-shirt that no one but him and Logan felt comfortable laughing at, and the black jeans with the holes worn in the knees that made his butt look good. Oh, and of course the Doc Martens that made him like 2 inches taller than he already was, you know. For confidence. 

The last part of his outfit was something he wasn’t super sure about, but McCarthy told him it looked good, and he had no reason not to trust her on this so far, so with that they went back down to her room so she could finish getting ready and so Noah could hide. 

About an hour later, the party was in full swing. 

Actually, it had been since just after he had ducked back into McCarthy’s room with her, but she insisted they show up together, “fashionably late”. 

How you could be “late” to something in your  _ own _ living room still escaped him, but he indulged her nonetheless. 

He had to admit, he didn’t  _ hate  _ the attention they got when they walked into the party later than everyone else. Honestly, though, the attention was not at the forefront of his mind. 

He was scanning the crowd for Weston, and the terrible party lighting was making him hard to find. 

Being 6’6 in his party shoes was more powerful than the shitty lights, however, because Noah spotted him, clad almost entirely in black, sulking in a corner over on the far side of the living room, conveniently close to the bar. 

Noah wasn’t sure exactly what it was about his new mindset, but he was confident enough right in the current moment to know that Weston could see him as he made his way over to Logan and Quentin, arm in arm with McCarthy. 

Some younger girl, probably early college aged, walked over to them and struck up a conversation, which he was thoroughly enjoying. They were having a great time, but Noah was really getting some sort of secret satisfaction out of watching Weston watch him. 

Weston’s jaw was set, and his eyes were locked on Noah, but Noah still pretended he hadn’t noticed. Was Weston…  _ jealous?  _ That was  _ fun. _

There was a certain point, though, where even Noah knew enough was enough. He waited until McCarthy and Quentin had gotten wrapped up in the aforementioned conversation to break off with Logan for a second. 

He was pretty hyped up. He had only been drinking a Sprite, because he didn’t want to do anything to ruin his perfect plan. 

He was just gonna go over there and tell Weston how he felt and it was gonna be great. He told Logan this, feeling his confidence falter for only a moment before she started hyping him up as well, and remembering everything Mark had said to him, he drank the rest of his Sprite, as if that would change anything, tossed the can, and beelined directly for Weston.

Noah was extremely entertained by watching Weston’s face go from brooding, to confusion, to panic, back to a mask of his normal stoicism as he processed Noah’s approach. 

Noah hoped that his own smirk never faltered, but either way, it didn’t matter now. 

He was in front of Weston, looking down at him, and there was no possible way he could hear Noah’s racing heartbeat over the almost deafening Troye Sivan that had just come on. 

Nice.

As if his body was being piloted by someone other than himself, he continued walking until he was right in front of Weston, and he put both of his hands up on the wall by Weston’s head, effectively shielding them from the rest of the party. 

Weston took in his whole look, from the platform boots up to the leather jacket that belonged to Weston that he had hung on to all this time (McCarthy was right, he was definitely into it), and Noah could feel the tension between them, but this time it was different. 

It wasn’t a standoff between them anymore, this felt like a game. Maybe a dance. They were taking turns pushing each other, seeing what the limit was. 

Before Noah could open his mouth to make some smart-assed comment, Weston spoke, in a voice that was wavering probably more than he had hoped it would be, “Noah, this is indecent. You do know that I’m still a married man in the state of Nevada?” 

Noah scoffed, and was proud of how steady his voice was in comparison to Weston’s when he retorted “Huh. Yeah, no, not funny.” Weston swallowed and nodded as he continued staring up at Noah, and Noah could feel his eyes widening despite his best efforts to maintain his suave demeanor as Weston slid his hands around Noah’s waist under the jacket. 

Noah watched as Weston’s eyes shot down to where his hand was, as if he couldn’t believe what he was feeling. 

Noah watched for a moment before he spoke again, challenging Weston, “Are we really doing this? Like, you’re sure this time? You’re not gonna run away from me again?”

Weston looked like he didn’t know if he should apologize or just kiss him, but he was strong in his conviction when he replied, “Yeah, we’re definitely doing this.” 

Noah scoffed, rolling his eyes and making some comment under his breath about the  _ “guy from work”,  _ but before Weston could ask what he meant by that, Noah leaned in and  _ finally  _ kissed Weston. 

He could hear their friends’ wolf whistles, but he didn’t care, although Quentin’s holler of either fear or shock was pretty startling. After a moment they broke apart, feeling all the eyes on them, and it was a mutual but unspoken agreement that they were going to move this reconnection  _ upstairs.  _

Weston took his hand, pulling him directly through the center of the living room, caring very little about the path of least resistance. People gave them knowing looks, and Noah waved at some of them. 

Who cares about being awkward when he was _going_ _upstairs with Weston?_

They pushed through the few party stragglers that had made their way to hang out upstairs and into Noah’s bedroom. Luckily no one was in here, and Weston quickly sat down on his bed, pulling Noah down directly on top of him to straddle his lap. 

Noah’s hands were immediately in Weston’s hair, pulling to tether himself while Weston’s hands made their way up underneath Noah’s shirt. Weston broke away from their kiss just long enough to say, slightly out of breath, “You wanna take that off?” 

Happy to oblige, Noah laughed at Weston while he groaned when Noah broke away again to do what Weston had  _ just _ asked him to do, setting the jacket on the bed next to them before tossing his shirt somewhere in the room behind him to be forgotten. He leaned back in, and Weston kissed him once, quickly, before muttering something to him. 

Noah asked him to repeat himself, and he did, but he pointedly avoided eye contact while he did so, cheeks burning up.

“ _ youshouldputthecoatbackon _ ”, he muttered a second time, and Noah had to take a moment to have a conversation with Jesus. He didn’t even really BELIEVE in Jesus, that’s how incredibly out of oxygen that request had made him. 

He wanted to say something sarcastic in his typical fashion, but Weston’s eyes were so dark and intense when he looked back up at him that he just obliged wordlessly, shifting on Weston’s lap to grab the coat and slide it back on. 

Weston watched him, mouth slightly agape, and as soon as it was back on his shoulders he was on him again, not even giving Noah a chance to properly catch his breath. 

Both of their hands were everywhere; on waists, in hair, grabbing each other to pull impossibly closer, and Noah had no idea if they had been at it for 5 minutes or 2 hours when Weston  _ finally _ flipped them around, pinning Noah underneath him on the mattress. Noah undid the top buttons on Weston’s shirt, pushing the collar open to run a hand over his collarbone and chest, finally bringing it up to rest on the side of Weston’s neck as he continued pressing down into him, grabbing Noah by the hips and pulling him slightly further up the bed. 

Noah helped him, scooting up to give Weston better access, and Weston sat back for a second, looking completely flustered in the best possible way, and his hands came back up to rub up and down Noah’s thighs as he asked his permission to take his jeans off. 

Noah’s head flopped back on the mattress thanks to the wave of vertigo that hit him when Weston asked, but of course he was immediately nodding, keeping his head tipped back as Weston kissed his way up one side of his throat and down the other as he worked the row of buttons on Noah’s jeans that he was just now realizing were  _ definitely _ from the women’s section open. 

He got the last button undone, and lifted his head off Noah’s neck to move down and take them off completely, when he made a noise of disgust that startled Noah out of the moment. 

Almost.    
He looked up at Weston, who, thankfully, was not looking at  _ him  _ with that horrified face, but that still didn’t explain what in Noah’s room was awful enough to distract Weston  _ right now.  _

He followed his gaze over the other side of his bed to the space by the wall, under his bedside table, and that’s when he saw  _ him. _

_ The fucking PILLOW? _

Noah immediately started laughing, almost hysterically, while Weston held his open shirt closed as if the pillow seeing him exposed would be offensive.

To be fair, it  _ was _ kind of a  _ terrifying _ pillow. It was one of those round yellow emoji pillows, but instead of looking like the normal laughing emoji, it had protruding, bloodshot eyes with multiple tears all over its face, and it looked super wrinkled, with bright red shading by the eyes and black by the mouth. 

He couldn’t stop laughing at the shock and terror on Weston’s face, even though a tiny part of him was fearful that he had ruined the moment by having godawful room decor. 

He sat up, offering to put it in his closet, and Weston let out another noise of disgust. “What the  _ fuck _ IS that thing?!” Weston asked, not breaking eye contact with it. Still laughing, Noah shoved it under his bed, answering simply, “my pillow!”

He reached up to try and pull Weston back on top of him to pick up where they left off, but Weston refused to be moved. After another second of just dumbfounded staring at him Weston sat back on his heels before grabbing Noah by the hand, dragging him up off the bed and down the hall to  _ his _ room, not caring who saw them in their varying states of undress. 

They very quickly picked up where they had left off, but this time instead of being sideways across the mattress, Noah had his head on the pillows, Weston hovering above him and muttering something along the lines of “can’t believe you sleep with that fuckin’ thing watching you”, which made Noah laugh into their kiss.

Yeah, sure, they had been temporarily cockblocked by arguably his worst piece of bedroom decor, but the few steps down the hall had given them some both air to think about how  _ badly _ they both wanted this. 

It was a heat of the moment decision but the moment itself was  _ years _ in the making, and they couldn’t get each other undressed fast enough. 

The whole experience was a lot better than Noah could’ve ever imagined, and he had spent  _ plenty _ of time imagining it. 

Weston may have been in the driver's seat physically, so to speak, but he didn’t really know what he was doing when it came to having sex with another dude. It made Noah feel all warm and fuzzy inside every time he would stop and ask him permission to do something, or ask what felt best for Noah, or even just  _ how  _ he should do something he didn’t exactly understand. 

He couldn’t think of any other time that he had felt so taken care of during sex, and he was glad that he had found Weston because he doubted there was anyone else that could make him feel like that.

Plus, besides all the tenderness, all the times he had heard jokes about Weston being a plumber were certifiably  _ true. _

He knew he would be satisfied with Weston no matter what, because he was borderline disgustingly in love with him, but God, it really didn’t hurt that that man understood the motion of the ocean. 

That’s not to say that he wasn’t working with a properly-sized boat. Weston just knew how to drive a yacht. 

Wait, back up, had he just thought the  _ love- _ word? Fuck. 

Well, in his defense, anyone looking at what he was looking at right now would probably be in love, too. 

He rolled over on his side to face Weston completely. The first glimpses of morning light were coming through in beams broken by the shadows of his blinds, casting very aesthetically pleasing bars of light on Weston’s face.

Jesus Christ,  _ morning light? _ How long had they been at it? 

Definitely long enough. They had tried some things that Noah had hardly even known  _ were _ things before a few hours ago. What a night.

He focused back on Weston, who looked like he was asleep. Which would make sense. Noah was spent, and he hadn’t done anywhere  _ near _ as much work as Weston had.

He was so peaceful when he slept. 

And  _ so  _ pretty. His high, sharp cheekbones and unfairly long eyelashes threw more interesting shadows on his face, and his lips were parted just slightly in that way they usually were when he drifted off. 

Noah was so focused on the shape of his full lips that he didn’t even notice that Weston had opened his eyes to watch him while he was looking at him until he broke into a smile, making Noah immediately feel like a creep for staring. 

Before he could worry too much about that, though, Weston turned on his side to face Noah, greeting him with a simple, “Hey, baby,” before pulling him in closer. 

That alone was almost enough to make Noah just confess his undying love right then and there, but he didn’t want to kill the vibe, so he just said “hey!” in return and continued memorizing details of Weston’s face. 

A moment of comfortable silence passed, but Noah felt like he had to say  _ something, _ so he just settled for “I feel, like,  _ really _ happy for the first time in a long time right now.” 

Weston smiled, looking at where one of Noah’s fingers had come up to tangle itself in one of Weston’s curls, just wrapping the hair around his finger and letting go over and over again. 

Noah found himself mesmerized by his smile again. It wasn’t very often that Weston genuinely smiled with his teeth and Noah swore that was a travesty. 

Weston’s left canine tooth was slightly crooked and Noah thought that it was just about the most endearing thing that he had  _ ever _ seen. Weston kept smiling while he brought one of his own hands up, brushing his fingertips over Noah’s cheekbone and up the side of his face until he reached his hair, running his hand through Noah’s hair until he reached the crown of his head, at which point he pushed Noah’s head forward to be closer to his own, pressing a kiss to his forehead, still smiling. 

Weston looked at Noah quizzically as he continued winding his finger around that single strand of hair, before he leaned in and kissed him twice more, once on the corner of the mouth and once on the bridge of the nose. 

Noah could feel that his face was burning up, but when he looked at Weston, he was just smiling again. 

“You know,” Weston finally spoke, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at Noah, “I really never thought I’d be good enough for you.” Noah felt his mouth open for a rebuttal, how on  _ earth  _ could  _ Weston  _ ever think he wasn’t good enough for  _ him _ when it was  _ so clearly the other way around, _ but before he could even get an indignant sound out, Weston dropped his hand to Noah’s face, his fingertips resting on his lips in a “please shut up and let me finish” motion. 

Noah couldn’t help himself and kissed Weston’s fingers while he spoke, but he managed to stay silent. 

“I really didn’t, you’re way out of my league. Always have been, always will be. But God,” he laid back down so their eyes were exactly across from each other, “I really love you.”

Noah almost yelped. Those words were  _ so _ completely unexpected, and he definitely thought that  _ he _ would be the first one to say them, not Weston. He had been obsessed with Weston since he was in  _ high school! _

Noah could read the room well enough to know that this wasn’t the time for an argument, though. And some part of him knew better than his racing mind that Weston did love him, truly. He couldn’t picture any universe where they both existed where they weren’t made to love each other.

“I love you, too,” he finally said back, a goofy grin on his face. Weston let out a breath he didn’t remember taking, and leaned over to kiss Noah again.

They quickly returned to their lazy, early morning almost-asleep state. He knew that the second Weston fell asleep, he would find himself following immediately after him. He was completely and utterly exhausted, and sleep was sounding like a more and more attractive option by the second. 

Still, however, the  _ most  _ attractive option was laying there directly in front of him, smiling like Noah had just casually told him that he had found the solution for world peace or something, and Noah knew that no matter how bone deep his exhaustion was currently, he couldn’t risk missing even a second of that adoring, slightly astonished look on Weston’s face. 

That look that  _ he had put there.  _

He let Weston pull him into his chest, Noah’s head tucked under his chin. 

Okay, fine. Maybe  _ a little bit _ of sleep wouldn’t be a bad idea, as long as Weston slept with him.

Though judging from the way his breathing had shifted as soon as Noah snuggled in, he figured that wouldn’t be an issue. 

Pulling the blanket up over both of them, Noah let his exhaustion take over, confident in the fact that this time when he woke up, this would still be his life. 

Heart full with the thought, he finally slept. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry :) ;)


End file.
